


SuperPotterLock- The Goblet of Fire

by Nurmengardx



Series: SuperPotterLock [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, M/M, Multiple Crossovers, Seer John, major character death in case you haven't seen the movies or read the books, not judging you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2018-12-07 17:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 22
Words: 84,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11628285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nurmengardx/pseuds/Nurmengardx
Summary: They eventually ended up upstairs, where people rarely ventured. John sat at a table while Sherlock continued to search.He pulled a book out and flipped it open to look at the pages. Just as he did, light shone through one of the windows and illuminated him. Motes of dust drifted around his soft curls. Sunlight bounced off his high cheekbones and his lips pressed together in concentration.John fidgeted in his seat, his face suddenly hot and itchy.





	1. The Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, if you're new here, please check out Philosopher's Stone, Chamber of Secrets and Prisoner of Azkaban first.

The Invitation

John was walking slowly around a small kitchen watching an elderly man in his pyjamas limping around, preparing a hot water bottle. Over the summer, he’d gotten a lot better at realising when he was having a vision, and this is where he was now. He knew because the man couldn’t see him, nor hear him, but the broken hearing aid that John spotted may have ruled that out anyway. In truth, he had no idea why he was being shown an old man, but he tried to memorise as much detail as possible. At least that way, Sherlock might be able to figure it out.

There were muddy boots by the back door, with a rake and shovel hanging on pegs above them. He must enjoy gardening, John thought. There were unopened letters on the counter addressed to Frank Bryce. Since there didn’t seem to be anyone else living here, then this must be Frank.

At that moment, both John and Frank noticed a flickering light in one of the top windows of the large manor house outside. Frank began muttering angrily and limped up the stairs as fast as he could to get dressed. John waited for him in the kitchen, staring at the flickering light with a sense of unease.

When Frank returned, he grabbed a rusty old key and a walking stick, and John followed him out into the garden. It was dark and eerily quiet. There was a faded plaque above the front door. It was difficult to make out but John thought it might say ‘Riddle’.

Frank continued around the back of the house and put the key into a door almost completely hidden by ivy. He let them both into the kitchen and John was forced to listen intently for Frank’s footsteps, as he couldn’t see where they were going. He chuckled to himself slightly at the irony.

The two of them trod carefully through the house. Though John couldn’t make any noise, he couldn’t help himself. They went upstairs and a little light escaped from under a door that was ajar at the end of the hallway. Frank and John edged closer to the door and looked inside. A fire had been lit inside the grate and Frank stopped as he heard voices inside the room. His hearing aid must be working after all.

John heard a timid voice first. ‘There is a little more in the bottle, my Lord, if you are still hungry.’ John shuddered as he recognised it as Peter Pettigrew, or Wormtail.

‘Later,’ said a second voice. This one was strangely high-pitched and cold. John’s eyes widened and his blood ran cold as he realised who it must belong to. His heart began to race, and the scene wavered around him. _No,_ he thought to himself. _Concentrate._ He took a few deep breaths and calmed himself as much as he could. As scared as he was, this seemed to be important and, after all, no one could see him.

‘Where is Nagini,’ said the cold voice.

‘I- I don’t know, my Lord,’ Wormtail said nervously. ‘She set out to explore the house, I think…’

‘You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail. I will need feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly.’

‘My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?’ asked Wormtail.

‘A week, perhaps longer. The place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over.’

‘The-the Quidditch World Cup, my Lord?’ Wormtail stammered. ‘Forgive me, but – I do not understand – why should we wait until the World Cup is over?’

‘Because, fool, at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty. On watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So, we wait.’

John bit his lip and strained to keep his concentration. He was unsettled that they seemed to be planning something, but they had at least until the World Cup to warn someone. If he had any idea where this was, he might even be able to have them arrested or something. He looked around vaguely, as if hoping to see some indication of their location.

‘Your Lordship is still determined, then?’ Wormtail said quietly.

‘Certainly, I am determined, Wormtail.’ There as a note of menace in his cold voice now.

John shuddered again, sincerely grateful that he was not Wormtail in that moment.

‘It could be done without Harry Potter, my Lord,’ Wormtail suggested.

John stiffened at the mention of Harry. It was becoming ever more difficult to remain in the vision.

There was a slight pause and then, ‘Without Harry Potter? I see…’

My Lord, I do not say this out of concern for the boy!’ Wormtail said hastily, voice rising to a squeak. ‘The boy is nothing to me, nothing at all! It is merely that if we were to use another witch or wizard – any wizard – the thing could be done so much more quickly! If you allow me to leave you for a short while – you know that I can disguise myself most effectively – I could be back here in as little as two days with a suitable person- ‘

‘I could use another wizard, that is true…’

‘My Lord, it makes sense,’ said Wormtail, sounding thoroughly relieved, ‘laying hands on Harry Potter would be so difficult, he is so well protected- ‘

So, they were after Harry, were they? John grimaced and tried to steady himself. This was already the longest amount of time he’d ever spent focusing on a vision, and he could feel it starting to slip away, but this was important, he couldn’t give up now.

‘And so you volunteer to go and fetch me a substitute? I wonder… perhaps the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you, Wormtail? Could this suggestion of abandoning the plan be nothing more than an attempt to desert me?’

‘My Lord! I have no wish to leave you, none at all- ‘

‘Do not lie to me! I can always tell, Wormtail! You are regretting ever returning to me. I revolt you. I see you flinch when you look at me, feel you shudder when you touch me…’

‘No! My devotion to your Lordship- ‘

‘Your devotion is nothing more than cowardice. You would not be here if you had anywhere else to go. How am I to survive without you, when I need feeding every few hours? Who is to milk Nagini?’

‘But you seem so much stronger, my Lord- ‘

‘Liar. I am no stronger, and a few days alone would rob me of what little health I have gained under your clumsy care.’

There were a few moments of tense silence.

‘I have my reasons for using the boy, as I have already explained to you, and I will use no other. I have waited thirteen years. A few more months will make no difference. As for the protection surrounding the boy, I believe my plan will be effective. All that is needed is a little courage from you, Wormtail – courage you will find, unless you wish to feel the full extent of Lord Voldemort’s wrath- ‘

‘My Lord, I must speak! All through our journey I have gone over the plan in my head – my Lord, Bertha Jorkins’s disappearance will not go unnoticed for long, and if we proceed, if I curse- ‘

‘If?’ whispered Voldemort. ‘ _If?_ If you follow the plan, Wormtail, the Ministry need never know that anyone else has disappeared. You will do it quietly, and without fuss; I only wish that I could do it myself, but in my present condition… come, Wormtail, one more obstacle removed and our path to Harry Potter is clear. I am not asking you to do it alone. By that time, my _faithful_ servant will have re-joined us- ‘

‘ _I_ am a faithful servant,’ said Wormtail, the merest trace of sullenness in his voice. ‘What of the Seer?’

‘What of him? It is as you said, Wormtail. The boy hardly seems aware of his own power. If he could see us, we would already be in the hands of the Ministry.’

‘But what if he learns?’

‘There are ways it can be dealt with. It does not worry me. Though for it to be done, I need someone with brains, someone whose loyalty has never wavered, and you, unfortunately, fulfil neither requirement.’

‘I found you,’ said Wormtail, now definitely sounding sulky. ‘I was the one who found you. I brought you Bertha Jorkins.’

‘That is true,’ said Voldemort, sounding amused. ‘A stroke of brilliance I would not have thought possible of you, Wormtail – though, if truth be told, you were not aware how useful she would be when you caught her, were you?’

‘I- I thought she might be useful, my Lord- ‘

‘Liar. However, I do not deny that her information as invaluable. Without it, I could never have formed our plan, and for that, you will have your reward. I will allow you to perform and essential task for me, one that many of my followers would give their right hands to perform…’

‘R-really, my Lord? What-?’ Wormtail sounded terrified again.

‘Ah, Wormtail, you don’t want me to spoil the surprise? Your part will come at the very end… but I promise you, you will have the honour of being every bit as useful as Bertha Jorkins.’

‘You – you – you are going to kill me too?’

‘Wormtail, Wormtail, why would I kill you? I killed Bertha because I had to. She was fit for nothing after my questioning. In any case, awkward questions would have been asked if she had gone to the Ministry with news that she had met you on her holidays. Wizards who are supposed to be dead would do well not to run into Ministry witches at wayside inns…’

Wormtail muttered something and John leaned forwards trying to hear him.

‘ _We could have modified her memory?_ But Memory Charms can be broken by a powerful wizard, as I proved when I questioned her. It would be an insult to her _memory_ not to use the information I extracted from her.’

John leaned against the wall heavily. He knew that Voldemort had killed someone and that he was after Harry. He was about to let the vision go when he heard Voldemort begin speaking again.

‘One more curse… my faithful servant at Hogwarts… Harry Potter is as good as mine. It is decided. There will be no more argument, now be quiet. I think I hear Nagini…’

A second later, John heard strangulated hissing sounds, which he recognised as Parseltongue. He spun around as was confronted by a gigantic snake, at least twelve feet in length. Frank also turned around at the sound of Nagini sliding along the floor.

They both stood stock still as Nagini paid them no mind and entered the room. Then Voldemort spoke again, this time in English.

‘Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail,’ he said.

‘In-indeed, my Lord?’

Indeed, yes. According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say.’

John sucked in a sharp breath and wished more than anything he could tell Frank to run as fast as he could.

Wormtail flung open the door and John felt disgust curdle inside him.

‘Invite him in, Wormtail, where are your manners?’

John shook his head. _No, don’t go!_ He wanted to scream, but it would make no difference.

Instead, Frank limped over the threshold at Wormtail’s beckoning, and John followed, against his fear and revulsion.

Inside, an antient armchair was facing the warm fire, and Nagini was curling up on the rug at the foot of the chair.

‘You heard everything, Muggle?’ came Voldemort’s voice from the chair.

‘What’s that you’re calling me?’ Frank said defiantly.

‘I am calling you Muggle. It means that you are not a wizard.’

‘I don’t know what you mean by wizard. All I know is, I’ve heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have,’ said Frank. ‘You’ve done murder and you’re planning more! And I’ll tell you too, my wife knows I’m up here, and if I don’t come back- ‘

‘You have no wife,’ said Voldemort. ‘Nobody knows you are here. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows… he always knows…’

‘Is that right?’ Frank said roughly. ‘Lord, is it? Well, I don’t think much of your manners, _my Lord._ Turn around and face me like a man, why don’t you?’

John shook his head. Lord Voldemort was the last person he wanted to see. He hesitated. He could leave now, but he couldn’t help but feel he needed to witness this. There had to be a reason he was here, so, though it was painful, he forced himself to stay.

‘I will face you, Muggle,’ said Voldemort. ‘Wormtail, come turn my chair around.’

Wormtail gave a whimper.

‘You heard me, Wormtail.’

Slowly, and with his face screwed up, Wormtail did as he was told.

It was worse, so, so much worse that John had expected. A small, child-like _thing_ was sat in the chair. It had dark, raw skin and floppy limbs, but the worst part was the face. Scaled, flat, and noseless, it looked more snake than human.

John looked into its red eyes and the terror he felt at their lifeless, evil gaze ripped him away from the scene. The last thing he saw was a flash of green light and Frank’s dusty screams.

 

All at once, John was sitting at Sherlock’s kitchen table, gasping for air. He could still hear Frank echoing around in his head. He looked down at the crisp, white table and saw fresh blood dripping onto its surface. He flinched as someone pressed a cloth to his face.

‘It’s all right,’ said Sherlock, wiping away the nose-bleed. ‘You’re in my kitchen and it’s August, nineteen ninety-four.’

John nodded, still breathing heavily and still quite disorientated.

‘Here, drink this,’ said Sherlock, holding a glass of water to his lips. It was pleasantly cool and made him feel marginally better. Soon, though, the adrenaline wore off and John fell forward. Sherlock’s hand on his chest prevented him from hitting the table, however. He carefully leaned back in his chair, trembling. ‘How long?’ he asked.

‘Forty-seven minutes precisely. Your longest so far.’

John nodded again, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. ‘You sat here the whole time?’

‘I couldn’t leave you. Not while…’

‘Thanks.’

Sherlock shifted in his seat. ‘Are you going to tell me what you saw? You were clearly frightened.’

John cleared his throat, wondering where to begin. He shuddered as the image of Voldemort flashed through his head.

Sherlock made a noise of disgust. ‘What was _that?’_

John sighed. ‘That was Voldemort,’ he said quietly, ignoring Sherlock’s flinch at the name.

‘Are you sure it was him? Because whatever that was, it’s repulsive.’

‘It’s an evil, scaly baby that drinks snake venom, and he’s after Harry. Who else do you suppose it is?’

‘That’s a good point.’ Sherlock pulled some parchment and a quill towards himself and began scribbling.

‘Okay, er, he’s got some sort of plan involving Harry and a servant at Hogwarts. He’s killed someone from the Ministry. Bertha Jorkins.’

‘Bertha Jorkins? She’s been missing for a while.’

‘That’ll be why then.’

‘What else?’

‘We’ve got at least until after the World Cup. He’s not going to do anything until then…’ John trailed off.

Sherlock looked up from his parchment. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘He’s going to do something to me. Whoever he has at Hogwarts will do it and I won’t be able to see him.’

‘That’s not true, it can’t be done.’

‘Can’t it? He killed Frank right there, so what if that’s what he means?’ his voice rose to a slightly higher pitch.

‘No one’s going to hurt you.’

‘How do you know? If Voldemort wants someone dead, then they’re dead.’

‘Well Harry is an example of that not always being the case. Look at me, John.’

John looked into Sherlock’s clear, confident eyes.

‘This is a letter to Dumbledore,’ he said. ‘We may not know what his plan is, but at least Dumbledore will be alert to anything suspicious. You’re safe.’

‘I don’t feel safe.’

‘You should. You’ve got me.’

John chuckled, shaking his head. ‘Yeah, I’ve got you all right.’

‘Who’s Frank?’ said Sherlock, changing the subject.

‘The Muggle groundskeeper for the house they were in.’

‘Do you know where? Did you see anything that might be a clue?’

‘No, I didn’t see anything like that.’

‘Describe the house to me,’ Sherlock said urgently, leaning closer.

‘Okay. It was big and old, like a manor house, but it wasn’t looked after. There was ivy and stuff all over it, and a few of the windows were broken.’

‘What else?’

‘Oh! There was a plaque above the front door. It was dark so I couldn’t be sure, but it might have said “Riddle”.’

‘Riddle?’ said Sherlock, sitting up straight. ‘Like Tom Riddle?’

‘I – yeah, that could be it.’

‘Well there can’t be many of them around. Okay, we might be able to get them. The World Cup is in two days, we might still have time. Brilliant, John!’ He shook by the shoulders slightly before dashing from the kitchen, parchment in hand.

Silence followed as John was left on his own. He took another shaky sip of his water and sighed at the now mushy cereal in front of him.

‘Can Melly get sir some more breakfast?’

John jumped. ‘Melly, you scared me.’

‘Apologies, sir,’ Melly squeaked as she reached up to take the bowl.

‘No, don’t worry, it wasn’t your fault. And please, call me John.’

Melly smiled at him.

‘I could eat some toast, if you wouldn’t mind.’

‘It is no trouble, John,’ said Melly. She began bustling around, switching on the gas oven and washing out John’s bowl.

Sherlock returned to the kitchen just as Melly placed a plate of hot toast in front of John.

‘Do you still want to go to Diagon Alley today? Maybe you should rest,’ Sherlock suggested.

John shook his head, munching on his toast. ‘No, I’ll go today,’ he said. ‘Cas and Dean will be here tomorrow and we won’t have time after.’ He caught a glimpse of Sherlock’s concerned face and quickly looked away. His stomach was suddenly quite fluttery, so he ate some more toast, hoping it would go away.

Sherlock waited patiently for John to finish, rocking in his chair, then lead him to the large fireplace out by the front door.

Melly lit a fire for them and Sherlock picked up an ornate, silver box from on top of the fireplace.

‘Wait, are we going by Floo powder?’ said John.

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve never done it.’

Sherlock stared at him for a minute, trying to figure out how to explain it. ‘Throw the powder on the fire and get in. Then say where you’re going. You’ll go fast, but try not to get out too early. If you say Diagon Alley, you will come out in the Leaky Cauldron.’

John nodded slowly. ‘Right, I understand. I think.’

‘Watch me.’ Sherlock took a handful of the glittery green powder, then handed the box to John. He threw the powder on the fire which turned the flames emerald. He stepped in, shouted ‘Diagon Alley’ and disappeared up the chimney.

John just stood, clutching the box.

‘John should go,’ said Melly, taking the box from him and holding it open. ‘Many wizards use Floo powder, so you shouldn’t be afraid.’

‘Thanks, Melly.’ John took a handful of the powder and threw it on the fire, just as Sherlock had. He climbed in, relieved that the fire wasn’t burning him, and tried not to choke on the ashes. ‘Diagon Alley!’ he cried. He too was sucked into the fireplace, spinning faster than he ever had before. He could see other fireplaces as he went, though he flew by too quickly to see anything out of them. Just as he was starting to feel quite sick from the spinning, he shot out of the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron, skidding across the floor. He coughed up all the ash he had inhaled while Sherlock helped him to his feet.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ Sherlock said bracingly, his hands lingering for a touch longer than was necessary.

John dusted himself off. ‘Okay, where to first?’

‘Let’s get our books first,’ said Sherlock.

They walked amicably together down to Flourish and Blotts, where Sherlock pulled out their book list and a thin belt.

‘It’s enchanted,’ he said without being asked. ‘If you buckle it around a stack of book, it makes them weightless.’

‘That’s handy, but we only need a few books.’

‘That remains to be seen,’ said Sherlock as they entered the shop.

John watched as Sherlock moved among the bookshelves, fingers lightly brushing the spines as he went, occasionally taking one and putting it in a pile next to John. At first, John thought he was pulling them out at random, but once he looked at some of them, he realised that they were all either one of a kind, or first editions.

‘Our family are renowned for collecting knowledge,’ Sherlock explained. ‘A pastime I quite enjoy, though rarely get the time for.’

‘And you can tell what kind of book you’re looking for just by touching them?’

‘Usually the texture of the cover, the inlay used for the title and the amount of gathered dust tells me all I need to know.’

‘Really? Wow, that’s amazing.’

Sherlock gave a small smile. ‘You think so?’

‘Definitely. Let’s keep looking.’

They eventually ended up upstairs, where people rarely ventured. John sat at a table while Sherlock continued to search.

He pulled a book out and flipped it open to look at the pages. Just as he did, light shone through one of the windows and illuminated him. Motes of dust drifted around his soft curls. Sunlight bounced off his high cheekbones and his lips pressed together in concentration.

John fidgeted in his seat, his face suddenly hot and itchy.

Sherlock looked up at him. ‘What are you staring at?’ he frowned.

‘Hmm?’

‘I said, what are you staring at?’

‘Nothing, nothing. What are you reading?’

‘Just an account written by the man who invented the Hover Charm. It’s quite interesting, it details exactly how he did it.’

‘That’s something you want to do? Invent spells?’

‘I’ve already done that, John,’ he said, closing the book and coming over to the table. ‘I can conjure bubbles at will. Amusing, but totally unnecessary. No, I want to invent something actually useful.’

‘Oh. Any ideas yet?’

‘Not yet, but I’m sure I’ll think of something. Let’s go and pay for these, you look like you could do with some fresh air,’ said Sherlock, touching the back of his hand to John’s cheek. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yeah, yeah, it’s just hot in here.’

They went downstairs and paid, then went to stock up on their potion ingredient before taking a break at Florean Fortescue’s. John was examining their equipment list. ‘Dress robes?’ he said. ‘What do you reckon that’s about?’

Sherlock shrugged, staring off into the distance and licking his ice-cream absent-mindedly.

‘What’s up?’ said John.

‘I just thought of something I need to ask Mycroft. It doesn’t matter right now. We also need to go to Eeylops. I told Mycroft I’d pick up some owl treats.’

‘Okay, we’ll do that after we pick up our robes. I think you need some new school ones anyway. Your ones from last year are too short.’

‘That sounds reasonable.’

They finished their ice-creams and began gathering their things. John looked up and snorted. ‘Sherlock, you – you’ve got ice-cream on your nose,’ he laughed. He leaned forward to wipe it off, grinning.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. ‘Let’s go.’

At Madam Malkin’s, they took care of Sherlock’s school robes first, then went over to the racks of colourful suits.

‘Can I help you, boys?’ Madam Malkin asked.

Sherlock was already pulling out a dark blue suit, but John had no idea what to look for.

‘Yeah, I’ve never had dress robes before,’ John said uncertainly.

‘Okay, not to worry, I have a very good eye. Leave it to me,’ she smiled. She turned to the rack and started muttering to herself. She considered a set of black ones, but then put them back in favour of a deep, rich red set. ‘This could do the trick,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you boys go and put them on and we’ll see what alterations we need.’

They went into separate cubicles and John started to put his on. It was a nice, silky material, but he was slightly dismayed to find that the legs were too long. He did quite like the colour, however.

‘Are you ready?’ Madam Malkin called through the curtain.

‘Yeah.’

She came in to the cubicle and cast a critical eye over him. ‘You’ll definitely be taking these?’

‘Yeah,’ said John. ‘I like them.’

She nodded, then set to work adjusting the fabric, pulling it in in places, trimming bits off in others. Once she had finished, she let him get dressed and he met Sherlock at the counter.

‘Okay, here are a couple of extra shirts to go with those, just in case,’ said Madam Malkin. ‘Now all you need to do is choose your ties.’

She put their suits neatly on the counter, then brought them to a shelf stacked with tie boxes, with some on display in the front.

‘I would recommend you something black, Sherlock, and a white one might look good with yours, John.’

John’s eyes were drawn to two velvet bow ties. They were clearly meant to match. One was black with a small white rose embroidered in one corner, and the other was the inverse: a white one with a black rose.

‘Those are nice,’ said Madam Malkin. ‘They’ll look good on you.’

John hesitated. The flower seemed a bit much.

‘Let’s get those and a plain one of each as well, in case we change our minds,’ said Sherlock, picking up four boxes.

‘Okay, one more stop and we can go home,’ said Sherlock as they exited the shop with their bags. He tied the handles of the bags to the belt around their stack of books, making them weightless too.

They began walking further down the alley, but John stopped outside Magical Menagerie. ‘They’ll have owl treats in here, right?’ he said. ‘Closer than Eeylops.’

It was very loud inside, as many animals screeched and howled at them as they walked through the door.

Sherlock disappeared to find the owl treats and John waited with their things by the counter. There were elaborate cages stacked up behind the counter and John squinted at them, wondering what they were for. Suddenly, he felt a weight on his shoulder, and a deep croak in his ear.

‘Sorry, let me get that.’ The sales witch said from behind him. The weight was removed and the witch came around to the counter holding an enormous toad in her hands. ‘You don’t happen to want a toad, do you?’ she asked wearily.

‘Erm- ‘

‘Yeah, probably not. No one wants toads these days,’ she sighed.

The toad wriggled free again and sat on John’s shoulder, warbling quietly.

‘It seems like it’s decided for me,’ said John, taking the toad in his hands. It made no move to escape.

‘Maybe,’ said the witch. ‘That one’s always seemed a bit smarter than the others. She’s always escaping. Maybe she knows you like her.’

John considered her face and was reminded of the year before when Crookshanks had decided Hermione would be his owner.

‘I tell you what,’ said the witch. ‘If you take her, I’ll give you her tank environment for free. I’ve had enough of her hanging around, if I’m honest with you.’

John bit his lip. ‘Can it be delivered? We came by Floo powder and I don’t think a whole tank will fit.’

‘Yes, absolutely!’ the witch said excitedly. She grabbed the toad and put her in a tank across the room. ‘Write your address on that bot of parchment and I’ll have her to you by tomorrow evening.’

‘Great, thanks,’ said John.

Sherlock then came up with a hefty bag in his hands. ‘What’s going on?’ he said, putting the bag on the counter.

‘I think I just adopted a toad.’

‘A _toad,’_ Sherlock said incredulously. ‘You never cease to amaze me.’

John sniggered. ‘Yeah well, some things are just meant to be.’

Sherlock paid for the owl treats and they made their way back up to the Leaky Cauldron.

‘How do we do this?’ John asked, looking at their thing.

‘I go through with it. It’s easy.’ He took a handful of the powder from the pot and threw it into the fire, stepping into the flames with their bags in hand. ‘Holmes Estate,’ he said, then he and the bags spun out of sight.

John took a deep breath and repeated the process. This time Sherlock caught him as he flew out of the fireplace. ‘One day I’ll do that and not fall over, he said, dusting himself down once again.

Melly emerged from the kitchen with a note in her hands. ‘Master Sherlock, an owl came while you were out.’

‘Oh, thank you, Melly.’

Sherlock took the letter, and Melly clicked her fingers, making the bags levitate before her, which she transported upstairs.

‘It’s from Ron,’ said Sherlock. ‘They’re picking Harry up tomorrow afternoon and we should be at theirs for dinner by five o’clock for dinner. Oh, and Hermione’s already there. How nice.’

Sherlock folded up the letter and gave John an uncertain look. ‘Are you sure you still want to go to the World Cup?’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘I know you’ve been worried about it lately. Besides, you know who wins.’

‘How d’you – never mind.’ John shook his head. ‘I can’t work out why I feel – uncertain about it, but it doesn’t feel dangerous. Maybe I fall over or something. Whatever it is, just because something feels a bit off doesn’t mean I shouldn’t go. It’ll still be fun, even if I do know who wins.’

Sherlock folded his and nodded stiffly.

‘Is this because we’re going to be in the Top Box?’ John asked.

‘No,’ Sherlock said swiftly. ‘I’ve just learned to trust your instincts, that’s all.’

‘Wow, I must be good,’ John teased. ‘But I really want to go, and I’d rather you were there too.’

‘Fine,’ Sherlock said. ‘We’d better go make sure our things are ready.’


	2. Back to the Burrow

Back to the Burrow

The next morning, John and Sherlock hastily ate their breakfast and helped Melly put all their camping equipment by the front door.

Around mid-morning, Sherlock shushed John, straightening. ‘What’s that?’ he said. The sound got louder.

‘I think it’s a car,’ said John ‘Maybe Dean’s here already.’

They went outside just as a huge black car came purring up the driveway. It stopped short of the front steps and the passenger door opened.

‘Hey, guys!’ Dean called, waving.

An older man in a cap, and a small boy also got out of the car.

Dean went around the back of the car and began unloading it.

‘You got everything you need?’ said the man, ‘’Cause I ain’t comin’ back here.’

‘Yeah, Bobby, we’re cool,’ said Dean. ‘Come help me with these bags.’

‘You remembered to bring the screen for Cas?’ said the boy, standing on his toes to see into the boot.

‘Yeah, of course I did, come on guys, what do you take me for?’

‘Jeez, Dean, relax.’

‘You relax.’

The boy rolled his eyes and brought some of the bags over to John and Sherlock. ‘Hey, I’m Sam,’ he said, smiling at them.

‘John.’

‘Sherlock.’

‘Thanks for letting us stay here,’ said Dean, lugging over the bag containing their tent. ‘So what’s the plan?’

‘We’re still waiting for Castiel, then we’re going over to the Weasleys’,’ said Sherlock. ‘We’re staying the night with them. It’ll be easier and they’re closer to the Portkey.’

‘The what?’ said John.

‘Magical transportation,’ Sherlock explained. ‘A little like Apparating, but for large groups of people.’

‘Oh, okay.’

Dean looked up at Sherlock’s house. ‘This is some place you got here,’ he said appreciatively.

Sherlock shrugged.

‘Okay, I think that’s it, Bobby,’ Dean called.

‘See you in a few months, then,’ Bobby got back in the car and drove away.

‘Nice car,’ said John.

‘Thanks. It’s my dad’s.’

Melly then appeared at the door. ‘Can Melly help sirs with their bags?’ she squeaked.

‘Nice to meet you, Melly,’ said Dean. ‘You can help Sam with his trunk, but we should leave the tent outside.’

‘I don’t need help,’ Sam grumbled.

‘Are you kidding? The thing’s bigger than you,’ Dean shot back.

‘It is no trouble, sir.’ Melly clicked her fingers and Sam’s school trunk floated into the house.

Sam scowled at Dean, who grinned back smugly, and followed Melly into the house.

‘How long till Cas gets here?’ Dean asked.

John squinted down the driveway. ‘Around lunchtime, I think,’ he said.

‘Cool.’

A couple hours passed. Sherlock showed the Winchesters where they’d be staying and Melly began preparing lunch. The doorbell rang just as Melly put a plate of sandwiches down on the kitchen table.

‘That’ll be Cas,’ said Dean, stuffing a sandwich in his mouth. ‘I’ll go get him.’ Dean wiped his hands on his jeans and sauntered down the hall, but when he pulled open the door, he was greeted by the sales witch from Magical Menagerie.

‘Hi, I’m looking for John Watson,’ she said, holding up a big glass tank, with a large toad sitting contentedly inside.

Dean stared at it. ‘Uh, John,’ he called, ‘there’s a – toad here to see you.’

John came down the hallway, followed by Sherlock. ‘Great, I was hoping she would get here before we go.’

‘Okay, I just need you to sign this.’ She dumped the tank into Sherlock’s arms and pulled out a quill and parchment. ‘And she’s all yours.’

‘Great,’ John smiled. He signed the parchment and handed it back.

‘So, what are you going to name her?’ asked the witch.

‘Oh, er, I hadn’t really thought about it.’ He looked at the toad’s ugly face. ‘I think – I think I’ll call her Dolly,’ said John, imagining a little bow on her head.

Sherlock scoffed and John raised an eyebrow.

‘Excuse me, is there a problem?’ said John

‘No, not at all,’ said Sherlock, clearly struggling to keep his face impassive.

They burst into giggles.

‘Is that a toad?’

They looked up and saw Castiel standing there. He was wearing his ever-present trench coat, only now it fit much better since he seemed to have grown half a foot at least since the last time they had seen him. The effect of such a growth spurt made him look painfully thin, but now he was the same height as Sherlock, if not taller.

‘I’d better be going,’ said the witch, and she Disapparated.

‘Cas!’ Dean exclaimed. He moved and gave Cas a hug, slapping him on the back.

‘Ouch,’ Cas hissed through his teeth.

‘What?’ said Dean, pulling away.

‘I have a bruise on that shoulder. I fell out of bed.’

‘Oh, okay. What about this?’ He pointed at a small graze along Castiel’s jawline.

‘Oh. I must have picked that up on the Knight Bus. That thing is a death trap.’

‘Right.’ Dean stared at him for a moment, then grinned. ‘Come meet my brother, he’s just in the kitchen.’ Dean led him through the door, leaving John and Sherlock outside.

Sherlock turned to go inside, but John didn’t move. He was looking up at the sky.

‘What’s wrong?’ Sherlock asked.

‘I was hoping to hear from Dumbledore today. But I suppose it’ll have to wait now.’ He sighed and took Dolly and her tank from Sherlock. ‘Come on. Let’s finish our lunch, then we can go over to the Weasleys’.’

A couple of hours later they were all at the door with their bags.

‘You got yours, Sam?’ said Dean. ‘I can carry it, if you want. Here-‘

‘Dean, stop,’ Sam complained, struggling to get the straps of the bag over his shoulders.

‘At least let me-‘ He reached out to adjust the straps but Sam moved away.

‘Get off! I’m eleven now, Dean, I don’t need your help,’ he grumbled.

‘Okay, fine!’ Dean said, suppressing laughter. ‘I’ll leave you alone. Everyone ready?’

‘Yeah, I think so,’ said John. ‘Let’s go.’

Sherlock led the way through the village, since he was the only one that knew he way. It was very quiet, with little traffic, and the atmosphere compelled the five of them to remain silent as they walked. Soon, they were outside the village and walking through the lanes that ran alongside lush fields and tall trees. The walk itself was quite pleasant and John smiled as they finally came to the house. As soon as he saw it, he knew the Weasleys couldn’t possible live anywhere else.

The building looked as if it used to be a large stone pigpen, but extra rooms had been added here and there, until it was several stories high and so crooked, the only way it could still be standing was if it was held up by magic. Five chimneys were perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided wooden sign stuck in the ground near the entrance read, THE BURROW.

They walked past a small yard and a garage that presumably had held Mr Weasley’s flying Ford Anglia. Since it was now running wild somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, the garage was now a storage space for Mr Weasley’s collection of Muggle artefacts. Judging by the odd assortment of plugs, batteries and a chunky, broken TV lying by the door, it seemed he had a lot.

Sherlock knocked on the front door, which was immediately opened by the plump Mrs Weasley, wooden spoon in hand.

‘Sherlock!’ she cried, wrapping her arms around him ‘It’s so lovely to see you. Come in, come in!’ She waved them all inside. ‘Why didn’t you send a note over and let us know you were coming?’ she said, bustling around the cosy living room, straightening cushions.

‘Greg is already out on a delivery,’ Sherlock said apologetically.

‘Not to worry, not to worry. Come through to the kitchen – just leave your things here – and you can introduce us to your friends.’

The kitchen was already packed with Hermione and every single Weasley, including a couple of extras it seemed.

‘It’s good to see you again, Mr Weasley,’ said Dean, going over to shake his hand.

‘Oh, yes. Hello, Dean, I didn’t realise you were coming,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘I do hope you’re not trying to charm me into talking more about those firearms of your father’s.’

‘Oh, no, no. Between us, Mr Weasley, I don’t think they’re such a great idea myself, but Dad wants what he wants.’

Suddenly they both became aware of everyone in the room staring at them.

‘ _You_ know my dad?’ said Ron.

‘Sure, I do,’ said Dean. ‘Your dad’s an expert on No-Maj – Muggle – relations and law. MACUSA consults with him on lots of things, and we generally model our laws after the ones he’s written. You guys didn’t know that?’

All of the Weasley children looked significantly impressed.

‘What’s MACUSA?’ said John.

‘Magical Congress of the United States of America,’ said Dean. ‘Anyway, let’s see. There are more Weasleys in here than I remember, who haven’t I met?’

Two of the elder Weasleys stood up and introduced themselves. First was Charlie. Freckly, weather-beaten, and just as red-haired as the rest of his family. He shook everyone’s hand and the large, shiny burn on his upper arm indicated his work as a dragon tamer.

Then was Bill. Surprisingly informal for someone who worked for the bank, he had a long ponytail, and a fang in one of his ears as an earring.

‘Oh, right. Everyone, this is my brother Sam. He starts Hogwarts this year,’ Dean grinned.

‘Oh, how lovely,’ Mrs Weasley smiled ‘You’ll have a great time.’ She then cast her gaze over Castiel and tutted. ‘Really, you and Sherlock are just as bad as each other. Here.’ She waved her wand and ingredients flew out of different cupboards, then made themselves into sandwiches. ‘Eat these. They’ll tide you over until dinner.’

‘Thank you,’ said Cas, taking a small bite of one.

Mr Weasley checked his watch, then suddenly jumped to his feet. ‘We’re late!’ he exclaimed. ‘We have to go, quick boys.’

Mr Weasley, Fred, George and Ron all dashed over to the fireplace and took turns yelling, ‘Number four, Privet Drive!’ and disappearing up the chimney.

Once they were gone, the rest of the Weasleys dispersed, leaving Bill, Charlie and Hermione at the table. The rest of the boys took the empty seats.

‘So, are you all excited for the match?’ asked Charlie.

‘Oh yeah,’ said Dean, nodding enthusiastically. ‘We never get to go to these things.’

While Charlie, Sam and Dean talked about the upcoming match, John watched Cas get up and throw away the sandwich he’d had one bite of.

‘Are you okay?’ John murmured as he sat back down.

‘I’m fine. I’m just not hungry,’ he mumbled back ‘I’d rather wait for dinner.’

‘You know, I’ve read some things about MACUSA,’ Hermione said to Dean. ‘Didn’t they outlaw relations with Muggles?’

Dean blinked a few times. ‘How old are the books you’ve been reading?’ he said defensively. ‘That was changed decades ago.’

‘Really?’

‘Well yeah, otherwise me and Sam wouldn’t be here. Our mom was a Muggle.’

‘Oh.’

‘Seriously, Hermione, some of the stuff you got over here is really outdated.’

Mrs Weasley returned to pass around some drinks, then left again.

‘I have a question,’ Sam piped up. ‘John, are you really a Seer?’

Everyone at the table looked at John, who fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘Erm, yes, I suppose I am.’

Sam’s eyes widened. ‘Really? That’s awesome! So you can see the future?’

‘Among other things.’

‘Like what?’

Despite his discomfort, John couldn’t help but smile at Sam’s enthusiasm. ‘I can see the past, so for example, yesterday you…’ He stared at Sam until the room shifted and he saw Sam sitting next to a bookcase. ‘You were reading the _Standard Book of Spells Grade 2._ Already?’ He snapped back to the present, with Sam grinning excitedly.

‘You’ve been practicing,’ Hermione said approvingly.

‘Yeah. I can’t really force it very far either way. Looking into the past is easier than the future. Sometimes it happens on its own, but when that happens, it’s really hard to tell what sort of time it is.’

‘That sounds… difficult,’ said Hermione.

‘Well, I don’t think it’s supposed to be easy,’ he shrugged, taking a sip of his water. Just then, he felt a tingling, like static electricity, on his scalp. ‘I think someone’s about to come back.’

First Fred came out of the fireplace, then George with Harry’s trunk. They sat down, then Ron came through.

‘You dropped that on purpose,’ Ron grinned.

‘Well, someone has to test them,’ said Fred, grinning back.

‘Dropped what?’ said John.

Before Fred could answer, Harry came flying out of the fireplace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! thanks to hhhelcat and VashtaNerada for the comments, they really brighten up my day :) It's been four years since I started this series, how crazy is that! See you all next time!


	3. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes

‘Did he eat it?’ Fred said excitedly.

‘Yeah,’ said Harry, straightening up. ‘What was it?’

‘Ton-Tongue Toffee,’ Fred said brightly. ‘George and I invented them. ‘We’ve been looking for someone to test them all summer…’

The rest of the Weasleys burst into laughter.

‘You invented something?’ Sherlock asked Fred, while Bill and Charlie introduced themselves to Harry.

‘Yeah, look.’ Fred pulled out a sweet in brightly coloured wrapping ‘It’s infused with an Engorgement Charm, so it’ll make the tongue grow. We don’t know exactly how long it’ll get though.’

‘Really? That’s ingenious,’ said Sherlock.

‘You think so?’ said Fred, looking quite surprised.

‘Definitely.’

Suddenly there was a faint popping sound and Mr Weasley appeared in the kitchen. Fred quickly shoved the sweet out of sight.

‘That wasn’t _funny_ , Fred!’ Mr Weasley shouted. ‘What on earth did you give that Muggle boy?’

Castiel hunched over his glass of water at one end of the table.

‘I didn’t give him anything,’ said Fred. ‘I just _dropped_ it… it was his fault he went and ate it, I never told him to.’

‘You dropped it on purpose!’ roared Mr Weasley. ‘You knew he’d eat it, you knew he was on a diet-‘

‘How big did his tongue get?’ George asked eagerly.

‘It was four foot long before his parents would let me shrink it!’

Harry and the Weasleys laughed again, and this time Dean did not supress his snigger

‘It _isn’t funny!’_ Mr Weasley shouted again. ‘That sort of behaviour seriously undermines wizard-Muggle relations! I spend half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of Muggles, and my own sons-‘

‘We didn’t give it to him because he’s a Muggle!’ Fred said indignantly.

‘We gave it to him because he’s a great, bullying git,’ said George, ‘isn’t he, Harry?’

‘Yeah, he is, Mr Weasley,’ Harry said earnestly

‘That’s not the point!’ raged Mr Weasley. ‘You wait till I tell your mother-‘

‘Tell me what?’ said Mrs Weasley, who had just entered the kitchen, eyes narrowed in suspicion. ‘Oh, hello, Harry dear,’ she said, spotting him. ‘Tell me _what,_ Arthur?’

Mr Weasley hesitated. As angry as he was with Fred and George, he hadn’t truly intended to tell Mrs Weasley what had happened. There was silence while Mr Weasley eyed his wife nervously.

‘Tell me what, Arthur?’ she repeated.

‘It’s nothing, Molly,’ mumbled Mr Weasley, ‘Fred and George just- but I’ve had words with them-‘

‘What have they done this time?’ said Mrs Weasley. ‘If it’s got anything to do with _Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes-‘_

 _‘_ Why don’t we show Harry where he’s sleeping, Ron,’ Hermione said hurriedly.

‘He knows where he’s sleeping,’ said Ron. ‘In my room, he slept there last-‘

‘We can all go,’ Dean said pointedly. ‘We can see the rest of the house.’

‘Oh,’ said Ron, cottoning on. ‘Right.’

‘Yeah, we’ll come too’ said George.

‘ _You stay where you are!’_ snarled Mrs Weasley.

Hermione lead the way out of the kitchen, followed by the seven other boys that weren’t in trouble with Mrs Weasley. Ginny joined them as they climbed the rickety staircase.

‘What are _Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes_?’ Harry asked.

Ron and Ginny both laughed.

‘Mum found this stack of order forms when she was cleaning Fred and George’s room,’ Ron said quietly. ‘Price lists for stuff they’ve invented. Joke stuff, you know. Fake wands and trick sweets, loads of stuff. It was brilliant, I never knew they’d been inventing all that…’

‘We’ve been hearing explosions out of their room for ages, but we never thought they were actually _making_ things,’ said Ginny. ‘We just thought they liked the noise.’

‘Oh yeah, they’re pretty serious about it,’ said Dean. ‘They tested some stuff on me last year.’

‘Like what?’ Sam said curiously.

‘That’s not important,’ Dean said quickly.

‘Thing is, most of the stuff – well, all of it, really – was a bit dangerous,’ Ron continued, ‘and they were planning on selling it at Hogwarts to make some money, and Mum went mad at them. Told them they weren’t allowed to make any more of it, and burnt all the order forms… she’s furious at them anyway. They didn’t get as many O.W.Ls as she expected.’

‘And then there was a big row,’ said Ginny, ‘because Mum wants them to join the Ministry like Dad, but they just want to open a joke shop.’

Just then, a door on the second landing, and a face poked out wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a very annoyed expression.

‘Hi, Percy,’ said Harry.

‘Oh, hello,’ he said, looking at them all disapprovingly. ‘I was wondering who was making all the noise. I’m trying to work here, you know – I’ve got a report to finish for the office – and it’s rather difficult to concentrate when people keep thundering up and down the stairs.’

‘We’re not _thundering,’_ Ron said irritably. ‘We’re walking. Sorry if we disturbed the top-secret workings of the Ministry of Magic.’

‘What are you working on?’ Harry asked.

‘A report for the Department of International Magical Co-operation,’ Percy said smugly. ‘We’re trying to standardise cauldron thickness. Some of these foreign imports are just a shade too thin – leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost three percent a year.’

‘I’d be very interested to read that,’ said Castiel. ‘Could you send me a copy when it’s finished?’

‘I – yes, certainly,’ said Percy, perplexed by his interest.

‘That’ll change the world, that will,’ Ron said. ‘Front page of the _Daily Prophet,_ I expect, cauldron leaks.’

Percy went slightly pink. ‘You might sneer, Ron,’ he said heatedly, ‘but unless some sort of international law is imposed we might very well find the market flooded with flimsy, shallow bottomed products, which seriously endanger-‘

‘Yeah, yeah, all right,’ said Ron, starting up the stairs again.

Percy slammed his bedroom door shut.

‘That was rude, Ron,’ Cas frowned.

‘Oh, come on, it’s all a load of rubbish, what do you care?’

Cas looked down and John and Dean caught each other’s eye. Both were aware of the circumstances of his mother’s death.

As they climbed three more flights of stairs, shouts from the kitchen echoed up to them and Cas shuddered. It sounded as though Mr Weasley had told Mrs Weasley about the toffees.

Ron slept in the room all the way at the top of the stairs, and it was covered in posters of the Chudley Cannons Quidditch Team. There was a fish tank in the window-sill that contained a large frog, and the tiny, grey owl that Sirius had given him was hopping around inside his cage, hooting madly.

‘Shut up, Pig,’ said Ron, edging his way between two of the four beds that had been squeezed into the room. ‘John and Sherlock, you’re in here with us,’ Ron told them. ‘And I think Sam, Dean and Cas are downstairs with either Fred and George, or Bill and Charlie. I can’t remember which. Percy gets to keep his room all to himself because he’s got to _work.’_

‘Er- why are you calling that owl Pig?’ Harry asked Ron, as everyone squeezed into Ron’s room.

‘Because he’s being stupid,’ said Ginny. ‘His proper name is Pigwidgeon.’

‘Yeah, and that’s not a stupid name at all,’ Ron said. ‘Ginny named him,’ he explained. ‘She reckons it’s sweet. I tried to change it, but it’s too late, he won’t answer to anything else. So now he’s Pig. I’ve got to keep him up here because he annoys Errol and Hermes. He annoys me, too, come to think of it.’

Pigwidgeon continued to zoom around his cage, hooting shrilly.

‘Where’s Crookshanks?’ John asked Hermione.

‘In the garden, I expect,’ she said. ‘He likes chasing the gnomes, he’s never seen any before.’

‘Percy’s enjoying work, then?’ said Harry, watching the Chudley Cannons flying in and out of their posters.

‘Enjoying it?’ said Ron. ‘I don’t reckon he’d come home if Dad didn’t make him. He’s obsessed. Just don’t get him started on his boss. _According to Mr Crouch… as I was saying to Mr Crouch… Mr Crouch is of the opinion… Mr Crouch was telling me…_ They’ll be announcing their engagement any day now.’

‘How was everyone’s summer?’ Hermione asked.

‘It was all right,’ John shrugged. He considered telling them about the vision he’d had of Voldemort, but a slight shake of the head from Sherlock changed his mind. ‘I think we were both just waiting for it to be over. My family already have a difficult enough time accepting that I’m a wizard. Trying to explain being a Seer is pretty much impossible.’

‘I was bored,’ said Sherlock.

‘That’s hardly news,’ John smirked.

‘Harry, have you heard from-‘ Ron began. He had been about to ask Harry about Sirius, but stopped as he remembered Ginny was in the room.

‘I think they’ve stopped arguing,’ Hermione said hurriedly to cover up the awkward silence, as Ginny was looking curiously from Harry to Ron. ‘Shall we go down and help your mum with dinner?’

‘Yeah, all right.’

They all went back down to a very ill-tempered Mrs Weasley.

‘We’re eating out in the garden,’ she told them. ‘There just isn’t room for so many people in here. Could you take the plates outside, girls? Bill and Charlie are setting up the tables. Knives and forks please, you two,’ she said to Harry and Ron, pointing her wand a little more vigorously than she’d intended. The potatoes in the sink shot out of their skins so fast, they ricocheted off the walls.

‘Oh, for heaven’s _sake_ ,’ she snapped, now directing her wand at a dustpan, which hopped off the counter and started scooping potatoes up. ‘Those two!’ She burst out savagely, now pulling pots and pans out of a cupboard. ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen, I really don’t. No ambition, unless you count making as much trouble as possible…’ She slammed a large copper saucepan down on the kitchen table and waving her wand around inside it. A creamy sauce poured from her wand tip as she stirred. ‘It’s not as though they don’t have brains,’ she continued irritably, taking the saucepan over to the stove and lighting it with another poke of her wand, ‘but they’re wasting them, and unless they pull themselves together soon, they’ll be in real trouble. If they carry on the way they are, they’ll end up in front of the Improper Use of Magic Office.’

‘I’ve not ended up there yet, and I’m sure I’ve done far worse things than they have,’ Sherlock said.

John elbowed him to let him know that he wasn’t helping. ‘Everything gets invented somehow, Mrs Weasley,’ John said gently. ‘You never know, they could be on to something.’

‘I don’t know,’ she said, pursing her lips and putting down her wand to pull out more saucepans.  ‘It’s always been the same with them, one thing after another, and they won’t listen to- OH NOT AGAIN!’

She had picked up her wand from the table, and it emitted a loud squeak and turned into a large rubber mouse. ‘One of their fake wands again!’ she shouted. ‘How many times have I told them not to leave those lying around!’

The sauce on the stove started smoking, and Dean jumped forward to stir it. ‘Why don’t you let us help you, Mrs Weasley?’ he said. ‘Sam, come chop these carrots.’

‘You don’t have to do that,’ Mrs Weasley said, bemused.

‘It’s the least we can do. Here, if you take over this sauce, then I can prep that chicken, and these guys can help outside,’ he said pointedly.

‘Right, yeah,’ said Ron. He and the others grabbed as much cutlery as they could hold and took it outside.

‘We’re not chefs, but we are excellent assistants, right, Sam?’ said Dean, giving Mrs Weasley a dazzling smile.

‘Yeah, absolutely,’ said Sam, moving on to his second carrot.

Outside, John was immediately pulled away by Fred and George.

‘So, John, you’re a Seer, right?’ said Fred.

‘Yeah, why?’

‘We were wondering if you know who wins the World Cup,’ said George.

John hesitated. ‘I do. Why do you want to know?’

‘No reason,’ said Fred airily.

John sighed, then he was suddenly walking around a brightly coloured room that was packed with people, including Fred and George in bright green dragonskin jackets. Then he was back, with Fred and George holding him up by his elbows. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ he mumbled, regaining his footing. He looked at their concerned faces for a moment, then said, ‘Give me something to write on.’

They both hurriedly dug through their pockets, one giving him a quill and ink, the other a giving him a scrap of parchment.

John wrote the results of the match down and handed it do Fred. ‘Do _not_ tell your mum I gave you this.’

‘We would never,’ George grinned, and the two of them ran off to their room, presumably to stash the parchment somewhere.

John took a deep breath, grounding himself in the present, and turned at the sound of clattering behind him.

Bill and Charlie were making a couple of tables fly, smashing them into each other and trying to knock each other’s out of the air. Bill’s table had caught Charlie’s and knocked one of its legs off.

Then Percy stuck his head out of his bedroom window. ‘Will you keep it down?’ he bellowed.

‘Sorry, Perce,’ said Bill, grinning. ‘How’re the cauldron bottoms coming?’

‘Very badly,’ said Percy, slamming the window shut.

Chuckling, John went over to Sherlock, who was standing by Castiel, smiling in the sunshine.

‘Are you all right?’ Sherlock asked.

‘Yeah, fine. It wasn’t a bad one. I wish they weren’t so random, though.’

‘Me too. Do you need anything? Water?’

‘No, I’ll be all right, thanks,’ he smiled. He caught Sherlock’s intense expression and cleared his throat. ‘We ought to work out how to… how to control it… better,’ he said, trailing off as his stomach fluttered.

By seven o’clock, the tables were groaning under the weight of all the food. At the far end, Percy was telling Mr Weasley about his cauldron report. Castiel sat next to him, listening intently, and John sat opposite, trying very hard not to.

‘I’ve told Mr Crouch I’ll have it done by Tuesday,’ Percy said pompously. ‘That’s a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he’ll be grateful I’ve done it in good time. I mean, it is extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup. We’re just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ludo Bagman-‘

‘I like Ludo,’ Mr Weasley said mildly. ‘He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favour. His brother, Otto, got into a spot of trouble – a lawn mower with unnatural powers. I smoothed the whole thing over.’

‘Oh, Bagman’s _likeable_ enough, of course,’ said Percy dismissively, ‘but how he ever got to be Head of Department… when I compare him to Mr Crouch! I can’t see Mr Crouch losing a member of our department and not trying to find out what’s happened to them. You realise Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?’

The name Bertha Jorkins echoed around John’s head and his chest suddenly constricted, leaving him quite short of breath. Then all the talking around the table was blocked out by a terrible screaming in his ears. He dropped his fork and everyone turned to look at him.

‘John, are you all right, dear?’ Mrs Weasley asked concernedly.

‘He can’t hear you,’ Sherlock said as John put his hands over his ears and squeezing his eyes shut.

‘Oh, is he having a vision right now?’ Sam said curiously.

‘It appears so,’ said Sherlock. He could hear the screaming distantly and tried to keep his face impassive. ‘I need water…’ He was passed a jug and goblet. ‘I think he might prefer it if you weren’t all staring at him when he comes out of it.’

There were sounds of agreement from around the table and they all went back to their conversations, though now with a few sidelong glances at John.

Soon, Sherlock could tell that the vision was releasing its grip on John when it became easier to breathe, for himself as well as John.

John lowered his hands and took a shaky breath.

‘You’re at The Burrow with the Weasleys,’ Sherlock murmured, handing him some water. ‘It’s August, nineteen ninety-four.’

‘Thank you,’ John mumbled back.

‘A bad one?’

‘Yeah, it was. Nothing we didn’t already know, though.’ John swallowed some water. ‘I’d rather not talk about it right now.’

‘That’s fine.’

They sat quietly together, listening to the other conversations.

‘So, have you heard from Sirius,’ Ron was saying very quietly to Harry.

‘Yeah,’ Harry said softly, ‘twice. He sounds okay. I wrote to him a couple of days ago, so he might write back while I’m here.’

Meanwhile, Hermione and Castiel were talking.

‘You’ve hardly eaten anything,’ Hermione was saying. ‘At least have some of this ice-cream.’

‘I told you, I’m not hungry,’ Cas said with an irritated expression. ‘Please stop worrying.’

John leaned back in his chair, no longer hungry himself, but happy to listen to the buzz of conversation around him.

‘Look at the time,’ Mrs Weasley said eventually, checking her watch. ‘The whole lot of you should be in bed. You’ll be up at the crack of dawn to get to the Cup. Whoever doesn’t already have their school things, leave your lists out and I’ll go to Diagon Alley. There might not be time after the Cup. The match went on for five days last time.’

‘Wow – hope it does this time,’ Harry said enthusiastically

‘Well, I certainly don’t,’ Percy said sanctimoniously. ‘I _shudder_ to think what the state of my in-tray would be if I was away for five days.’

‘Yeah, someone might slip dragon dung in it again, eh, Perce?’ said Fred.

‘That was a sample of fertiliser from Norway!’ said Percy, going very red in the face. ‘It was nothing _personal!’_

‘It was,’ Fred whispered as they got up from the table. ‘We sent it.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey welcome back! Thanks to rainingcatz and hhhelcat for the comments :) I hope you're all enjoying it so far and I'll see you next time!


	4. The Portkey

The Portkey

John slept fitfully and woke the next morning to find Sherlock holding his hand in his sleep. He gently pulled it away and gazed at Sherlock’s sleeping face. It was more peaceful than he ever looked during the day.

Just then, Mrs Weasley quietly opened the door. ‘Oh, you’re already awake,’ she whispered, then moved over to wake up Harry and Ron.

John shook Sherlock’s shoulder and his eyes fluttered open.

‘It’s time to wake up,’ John said softly.

Sherlock sat up and stretched, taking in John’s pale and drawn face. ‘There will be time for a nap hen we arrive, I think,’ he said.

The four of them got dressed in silence, then headed down to the kitchen, meeting Sam, Dean and Castiel on the way down.

Mrs Weasley was stirring the contents of a large pot on the stove, while Mr Weasley sat at the table, checking a sheaf of large parchment tickets. He looked up as the boys entered, and spread his arms so they could see his clothes more clearly. He was wearing what appeared to be a golfing jumper and a very old pair of jeans, slightly too big for him and held up with a thick leather belt. ‘What d’you think?’ he asked anxiously. ‘We’re supposed to go incognito - do I look like a Muggle?’

‘That is actually very good,’ said Dean, adjusting the collar on his own jacket.

‘Where’s Bill, Charlie and Percy?’ said George as he entered the kitchen.

‘Well, they’re Apparating, aren’t they?’ said Mrs Weasley, heaving the large pot over to the table and lading porridge into bowls. ‘So they can have a bit of a lie-in.’

‘So they’re still in bed?’ Fred said grumpily, pulling his bowl of porridge towards him. ‘Why can’t we Apparate too?’

‘Because you’re not of age and you haven’t had your test,’ Mrs Weasley snapped. ‘And where have those girls got to?’ She bustled out of the room and up they heard her climbing the stairs.

‘I do not like Apparating,’ said Dean, sitting down with his porridge. ‘I went side-along with my dad once and it sucked.’

John nodded in agreement. His one time with Mycroft had not been a pleasant experience.

‘You have to pass a test to Apparate?’ Harry asked.

‘Oh yes,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘The Department of Magical Transportation had to fine a couple the other day for Apparating without a license. It’s not easy, Appirition, and when it’s not done properly it can lead to nasty complications. This couple I’m talking about went and splinched themselves.’

Everyone around the table except John and Harry winced.

‘Er – _splinched?’_ said Harry.

‘They left half of themselves behind,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘So, of course, they were stuck. Couldn’t move either way. Had to wait for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad to sort them out. Meant a fair bit of paperwork, I can tell you, what with the Muggles who spotted the body parts they left behind…’

‘Were they okay?’ Harry asked, startled.

‘Oh yes, but they got a heavy fine, and I don’t think they’ll be trying it again in a hurry. You don’t mess around with Appirition. There are plenty of adult wizards who don’t bother with it. Prefer brooms – slower, but safer.’

‘But Bill, Charlie and Percy can all do it?’

‘Gabriel can too,’ said Cas. ‘He passed his test a few weeks ago.’

‘Good for him,’ said Dean.

‘I almost forgot to tell you all, Gabriel has been made Head Boy.

‘Excellent!’ Fred and George exclaimed.

‘That’s awesome,’ Dean grinned.

‘Percy only just passed his test. Must’ve taken it at the same time as Gabriel,’ said George. ‘He’s been Apparating downstairs every morning since, just to prove he can.’

There were footsteps down the passageway and Hermione and Ginny came into the kitchen, both looking drowsy.

‘Why do we have to be up so early?’ said Ginny, rubbing her eyes and sitting down at the table.

‘We’ve got a bit of a walk,’ said Mr Weasley.

‘Walk?’ said Harry. ‘What, are we walking to the World Cup?’

‘No, no, that’s miles away,’ said Mr Weasley, smiling. ‘We only need to walk a short way. It’s just that it’s very difficult for large numbers of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, but on s huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup-‘

‘George!’ Mrs Weasley said sharply, and they all jumped.

‘What?’ said George in an innocent tone that deceived nobody.

‘What is that in your pocket?’

‘Nothing!’

‘Don’t you lie to me!’ Mrs Weasley pointed her wand at George’s pocket and said, ‘ _Accio!’_

Several small, brightly coloured objects zoomed out of George’s pocket; he made a grab for them but missed, and they sped right into Mrs Weasley’s outstretched hand.

‘We told you to destroy them!’ Mrs Weasley said furiously, holding up what were unmistakeably more Ton-Tongue Toffees. ‘We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!’

John glanced over at Castiel, who was staring at his tightly clenched fists on the table. John nudged Sherlock.

‘What?’ Sherlock said.

John nodded at Castiel.

‘Oh.’ Sherlock sat down beside Cas. ‘Cas, you have to breathe,’ he murmured.

Cas took one short, sharp breath.

Sherlock looked up at Mrs Weasley shouting at the twins. ‘Do you need to go outside?’ he asked Cas.

Cas’s eyes flicked up to the door and back, and he nodded.

‘Okay let’s go.’

Sherlock and John guided him outside. He took some deep shuddering breaths, leaning up against the house. ‘Thank you,’ he said breathlessly.

‘I should have thought,’ Sherlock said apologetically. ‘Mrs Weasley can be a little much, I should have warned you.’

Castiel dismissed this with a wave of his hand, then the door opened again and Dean came out.

‘Hey, what’s going on?’ he asked. ‘Panic attack?’

Cas nodded, making an effort to steady his breathing.

‘Because of Mrs Weasley?’

Cas nodded again, doubling over and leaning on his knees.

‘Right, right, you don’t like yelling.’

It took a few more minutes for Cas to feel slightly better, but they had no more time to wait once everyone else started leaving the house.

‘Let’s go,’ said Mr Weasley, handing them their backpacks.

It was chilly and the moon was still out as they set off. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon showed that daybreak was growing closer.

‘Where are we going?’ John asked.

‘There have been two hundred Portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearest one to us is up the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that’s where we’re headed.’ Mr Weasley pointed ahead of them, where a large black mass rose from the ground.

Sam was the first to crest the hill, and he looked back at Dean gleefully. ‘Who’s the bet now, huh, Dean?’ he gloated.

‘That doesn’t count,’ Dean puffed, also arriving on level ground. ‘You know I hate being up early, and besides, I’m carrying more weight. I got the tent’

Sam stuck his tongue out and the rest of the group arrived, panting and clutching stitches.

‘Whew,’ panted Mr Weasley. ‘Well, we’ve made good time – we’ve got ten minutes… Now we just need the Portkey,’ he said, squinting at the ground. ‘It won’t be big, come on…’

They spread out to search, but had only been at it for a few minutes when a shout shattered the stillness in the air.

‘Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we’ve got it!’

Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.

‘Amos!’ said Mr Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the man, followed by the rest of them. Mr Weasley shook hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a mouldy, old boot in his other hand.

‘This is Amos Diggory, everyone,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘Works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?’

Cedric Diggory was an extremely handsome boy in his seventh year. He was captain and Seeker of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team.

‘Hi,’ said Cedric, looking around at them all.

Dean said ‘Hi’ back with everyone else, but he was looking at the ground, scuffing his toes, all of his usual bravado suddenly gone

‘Long walk, Arthur?’ Mr Diggory asked.

‘Not too bad,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘We live just in the village there. You?’

‘Had to get up at two, didn’t we, Ced? I tell you, I’ll be glad when he passes his Appirition test. Still, not complaining. Quidditch World Cup, wouldn’t miss it for a sack full of Galleons – and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy…’ Mr Diggory peered around at them all good-naturedly. ‘All these yours, Arthur?’

‘Oh, no, only the redheads,’ said Mr Weasley, pointing out his children. ‘The rest are friends of Ron’s. Let’s see, this is Hermione, and that’s Harry-‘

‘Merlin’s beard,’ said Mr Diggory, his eyes widening. ‘Harry? Harry _Potter?’_

‘Er, yeah,’ said Harry.

‘Ced’s talked about you, of course,’ said Mr Diggory. ‘Told us all about playing against you last year. I said to him, I said – Ced, that’ll be something to tell the grandkids, that will, _you beat Harry Potter!’_

Fred and George scowled at him. Cedric looked slightly embarrassed. ‘Harry fell off his broom, Dad,’ he muttered. ‘It was an accident.’

‘Yes, but _you_ didn’t fall of, did you?’ said Mr Diggory amiably, slapping Cedric on the back. ‘Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman… but the best man won, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don’t need to be a genius to work out which one’s the better flier!’

‘Must be nearly time!’ Mr Weasley said hurriedly, catching sight of the twins’ expressions. ‘Do you know whether we’re waiting for any more, Amos?’

‘No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn’t get tickets,’ said Mr Diggory. ‘What about the Holmeses?’

‘Sherlock and his friend John are here,’ said Mr Weasley, pointing at them.

‘Ah, excellent. And the Winchesters?’

‘That’s us,’ said Dean, indicating himself, Sam and Cas.

‘There aren’t any more of us in the area, are there?’ said Mr Diggory.

‘Not that I know of,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘Yes, it’s a minute off, we’d better get ready. You just need to touch the Portkey, that’s all, a finger will do.’

With great difficulty, owing to their bulky backpacks, they crowded around the old boot in the semi-darkness, waiting…

‘Three…’ muttered Mr Weasley, looking at his watch, ‘two… one…’

It happened immediately. Their feet left the ground and they sped forwards through howling wind and swirling colour, their fingers stuck to the boot as though it was pulling them magnetically forwards, and then-

Their feet slammed into the ground and most of them fell over. Only Mr Weasley, Mr Diggory, Cedric and Dean retained their balance. The Portkey hit the ground with a heavy thud.

‘Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill,’ said a voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to hhhelcat for the comment :) I'm quite far ahead in writing it, but man is this book long. I've only just got to Hogwarts, there's certainly a lot to cover. Enjoy the chapter and I'll see you all next time!


	5. Bagman and Crouch

Bagman and Crouch 

Dean laughed loudly as he hauled Sam to his feet. ‘Graceful,’ he said.

‘Shut up, Dean,’ Sam said grumpily, adjusting his backpack.

John got up and looked around. They appeared to have arrived on a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch and the other a thick roll of parchment. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly; the man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length boots; his colleague, a kilt and poncho.

‘Morning, Basil,’ said Mr Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys behind him.

‘Hello, there, Arthur,’ said Basil wearily. ‘Not on duty, eh? It’s all right for some… we’ve been here all night… you’d better get out of the way, we’ve got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five fifteen. Hang on, I’ll find your campsite… Weasley… Weasley…’ He consulted his parchment list. ‘Yes, here we are. Weasley, Holmes and Winchester, about a quarter of a mile’s walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager’s called Mr Roberts. Diggory… second field… ask for Mr Payne.’

‘Thanks, Basil,’ said Mr Weasley, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.  

They set of across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. After about twenty minutes, a small, stone cottage swam into view. Beyond it, they could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field towards a dark wood on the horizon. They said goodbye to the Diggorys, and approached the cottage door.

A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them.

‘Morning!’ Mr Weasley said brightly.

‘Morning,’ said the man who appeared to be the only Muggle around the campsite.

‘Would you be Mr Roberts?’

‘Aye, I would,’ said Mr Roberts. ‘And who’re you?’

‘Weasley, Holmes and Winchester – four tents booked a couple of days ago?’

‘Aye,’ said Mr Roberts, consulting a list tacked to the door. ‘You’ve got a space up by the woods there. Just the one night?’

‘That’s it,’ said Mr Weasley.

‘You’ll be paying now, then?’

‘Ah – right – certainly –‘ Mr Weasley retreated a short distance from the cottage. ‘Help me, Dean,’ he muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart.

‘Uh, I’m not so great with the pounds,’ said Dean. ‘Dollars are more my speed.’

‘Here,’ said John, stepping forward, ‘let me help.’

‘So this one’s a – a – a ten? Ah, yes, I see the little number on it now… so this is a five?’

‘A twenty,’ John corrected gently.

‘Ah, yes, so it is… I don’t know these little bits of paper…’

‘You foreign?’ said Mr Roberts, as Mr Weasley returned with the correct notes.

‘Foreign?’ repeated Mr Weasley, confused.

‘You’re not the first one who’s had trouble with money. I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps earlier.’

‘Did you really?’ Mr Weasley said nervously.

Mr Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change. ‘Never been this crowded,’ he said suddenly, looking out over the misty field. ‘Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up…’

‘Is that right?’ Mr Weasley held out his hand for his change, but Mr Roberts didn’t give it to him.

‘Aye,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘People from all over. Loads of foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There’s a bloke walking around in a kilt and poncho.’

‘Shouldn’t he?’

‘It’s like some sort of, I dunno… like some sort of rally,’ said Mr Roberts. They all seem to know each other. Like a big party.’

At that moment, a wizard in baggy trousers and suspenders appeared out of thin air next to Mr Roberts’s front door. ‘ _Obliviate!’_ he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr Roberts.

Sherlock flinched and recoiled from the spell.

Mr Roberts’s eyes slid out of focus and a look of dreamy unconcern fell over his face. ‘A map of the campsite for you,’ he said placidly to Mr Weasley. ‘And your change.’

‘Thanks very much,’ said Mr Weasley.

The wizard in baggy trousers accompanied them towards the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted with deep, purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr Roberts, he muttered to Mr Weasley, ‘Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman’s not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I’ll be glad when this is all over. See you later, Arthur.’ He Disapparated.

‘I thought Mr Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports?’ said Ginny, looking surprised. ‘He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn’t he?’

‘He should,’ said Mr Weasley, smiling and leading them through the gate, ‘but Ludo’s always been a bit – well – _lax_ about security. You couldn’t wish for a more enthusiastic Head of the Sports Department, though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had.’

They trudged up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most looked almost ordinary; their owners had clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible, but slipped up by adding chimneys, or weather-vanes. Others were so clearly magical that it was no wonder Mr Roberts was getting suspicious. One even looked like a miniature palace, complete with several live peacocks tethered outside.

‘Always the same,’ said Mr Weasley, smiling, ‘we can’t resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us.’

They had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, where there was an empty space and three small signs that read, ‘Holmes’, ‘Weezly’, and ‘Winchester’.

‘Couldn’t have a better spot!’ Mr Weasley said happily. ‘The pitch is just on the other side of the woods here, we’re as close as we could be.’

They all dropped their bags to the ground and got started on erecting their tents. Sam and Dean appeared to have done it many times before, and their tent was up within minutes so they moved on to help Mr Weasley with both of his.

Sherlock’s, on the other hand, was self-building. All he had to do was unpack it and set it on the ground, then it was up within the blink of an eye.

‘It’s the only one we have,’ he said at Mr Weasley’s disapproving look.

All four of the tents looked perfectly ordinary from the outside, and John wondered how all the Weasley boys and Harry could possibly fit in one of the small tents.

Mr Weasley bent down to enter the tent. ‘We’ll be a bit cramped,’ he called, ‘but I think we’ll all squeeze in. Come and have a look.’

John bent down, ducked under the flap, and felt his jaw drop. They had walked into an old-fashioned, three-roomed flat with a bathroom and kitchen, and a strong smell of cats.

‘Well, it’s not for long,’ said Mr Weasley, peering at the four bunk-beds that had been squeezed into the bedroom. ‘I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn’t camp much anymore, poor fellow, he’s got lumbago.’ He picked up a dusty kettle and looked inside it. ‘We’ll need water…’

‘There’s a tap marked on this map that the Muggle gave us,’ said Ron, who had come in behind them. ‘It’s on the other side of the field.’

‘Why don’t you, Harry and Hermione get some water, then-‘ Mr Weasley handed over the kettle and a couple of saucepans, ‘-and some of us will get some firewood.’

‘But we’ve got an oven,’ said Ron. ‘Why can’t we just-‘

‘Ron, anti-Muggle security!’ said Mr Weasley, his face shining with anticipation. ‘When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors, I’ve seen them at it!’

They took a tour of the girls’ tent which was smaller but without the smell of cats, then moved onto the Winchesters’ tent. Inside was smaller than the Weasley’s, but seemed to be more comfortable. There were only two rooms, one being a small bathroom with a shower. The other contained the kitchen, a table with chairs, two single beds up against one wall, and a third that it snugly in an alcove in another wall.

‘What d’ya think?’ Dean asked Cas proudly. ‘Oh, wait. Sam, pass me that bag.’

Sam threw a bag over to Dean and he pulled out some thick, black material. He hung it over the entrance of the alcove, blocking the bed from view. ‘Okay, now what do you think?’

Cas smiled and put his bag beside the alcove. ‘It’s nice,’ he said.

‘Yeah we practically lived in this thing before we moved here,’ Dean told them. ‘I definitely prefer Hogwarts.’

Next, they went over to Sherlock’s tent. The inside was huge, with two bedrooms containing lush double beds, wardrobes and bedside tables. There was also a living room filled with books and deep squashy armchairs. The kitchen was large and fully equipped, and the dining room had a long, fancy table that was already set up for ten people.

‘This is a bit much, isn’t it?’ John asked, watching Ron walk around with his mouth hanging open.

‘My family doesn’t go camping,’ said Sherlock, ‘so I’ll repeat: this is the only one we have.’

John shrugged, and everyone filtered out of Sherlock’s tent, leaving just the two of them.

Sherlock then led John to one of the bedrooms. ‘This one’s yours,’ he said. ‘Try to get some sleep. I’ll wake you when Bill, Charlie and Percy arrive.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ said John, sighing as he sunk into the soft bed. ‘Thanks.’

Sherlock smiled and left John to sleep. He sat down outside and leaned against the tent.

Cas was helping organise the Winchesters’ things inside their tent.

‘I want to go for a walk, you guys want to come?’ Dean asked, dusting his hands off once he dumped the last bag down.

‘Nah, I’ll stay here and help Mr Weasley,’ said Sam, exiting the tent.

‘Cas?’

‘I’ll walk.’ He turned around to adjust the curtain hiding his bed and Dean gasped.

‘Cas, you’re bleeding!’ he said, alarmed.

‘What?’ Cas pulled his coat off and said, ‘Damn,’ at the blood that had seeped through his shirt, beige sweater vest and his coat.

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe it happened when I fell after we took the Portkey.’

‘Well here, let me take a look at it.’ He reached out and touched the hem of Cas’s shirt, but he jerked away.

‘No, don’t,’ he said hastily. ‘It’s fine. Let me just change shirts and we can go.’ He disappeared behind the curtain.

‘Are you sure it’s okay?’ Dean said worriedly.

‘Yes, Dean, it doesn’t hurt. It is a shame about this shirt, though.’ He emerged wearing a fresh, indigo jumper. ‘I bandaged it. It shouldn’t leak now.’

‘Well… let’s go then, I guess.’

By now, the sun had lifted itself just above the horizon and the mist was dissipating.

‘This is my favourite time of day,’ said Cas.

‘Yeah, it’s a little cold for me, though. Aren’t you cold?’

‘I live on a mountain, Dean. Cold is relative.’

Dean chuckled.

As they walked, people began emerging from their tents to cook breakfast. Some were attempting to light their fires the Muggle way, while others looked around furtively and conjured flames with their wands.

There were many different languages flying around, and Castiel was quite happy to listen to it as they walked, but Dean slowed to a stop, squinting. He was looking at a group of witches that were sitting between two tents, with a banner strung between them that read: _The Salem Witches Institute._

 _‘_ Jo?’ Dean called.

A pretty blonde girl turned around and smiled brightly. ‘Dean!’ she shouted, waving. She and a few of the other witches came over to them.

‘How’s domestic life treating you these days?’ she asked.

‘You know how it is,’ said Dean. ‘Not quite as exciting as slogging around the country for months on end, but we got a nice place and Sam likes it, so it’s not so bad.’

‘Jo, who’re your friends?’ one of the witches asked, coming over quite giggly.

‘Oh, this is Dean Winchester. He’s like, my oldest friend.’

‘Dean Winchester? No way!’

‘And who’s this?’ another blonde witch asked, stepping closer to Cas. ‘He’s cute.’

‘That’s very nice of you,’ Cas mumbled, looking anywhere but at her.

‘This is Cas,’ said Dean. ‘A friend of mine from school. Cas, this is Jo Harvelle.’

‘Hi, Cas,’ said Jo.

‘It’s nice to meet you,’ Cas said politely, shaking her hand.

‘He’s – skinny.’

‘Come on, Jo, the Ilvermorny boys will be here soon!’ one of the witches who had stayed by the tents called.

‘Well, I’d better go. Wouldn’t want to miss the Ilvermorny boys,’ Jo said, flashing Dean a mischievous grin.

‘Yeah, better not miss that,’ Dean laughed. ‘Come visit us in the summer, okay?’

‘Sure.’ Jo smiled again, and the blonde witch blew Cas a kiss, before they all hurried back to their tent.

Cas and Dean continued walking, admiring the elaborate tents that they passed.

‘I meant to ask, how are your scars doing?’ said Cas.

‘They pull when I bend, but other than that, they’re fine.’

‘You haven’t been putting the potion on it like I told you to, have you?’

‘What? No, of course I have,’ Dean said in a spluttery voice that would have convinced no one.

Cas rolled his eyes. ‘You have no sense of self-preservation at all, do you?’

‘That’s ridiculous, of course I do.’

‘Excuse me, but who was it that jumped on a fully-grown werewolf not two months ago?’

‘Come on, man, it wasn’t that-‘

‘Cassie! Cassie!’ A little boy of about six came running towards them.

All the worry and weariness that Dean had assumed were just part of Castiel’s features fell away.

‘Alfie!’ he said happily, picking the boy up. ‘You’re so big!’

The boy called Alfie suddenly buried his head in the crook of Castiel’s neck.

‘What is it?’ Cas asked gently.

Alfie pointed at Dean.

‘It’s okay. This is Dean. He goes to my school.’

‘Oh. Is he your boyfriend?’ Alfie asked.

Cas blushed and Dean laughed. ‘No, he’s just a friend.’

‘That’s sad,’ said Alfie. ‘He’d make a good boyfriend. He’s pretty.’

Cas turned even more red.

‘Well thanks, little fella. You know, you’re pretty too,’ Dean said.

‘Alfie, come back here!’ another voice called. A red-haired girl of around fifteen ran over to them. ‘I’m so sorry, he gets really clingy sometimes-‘ She cut herself off and looked at them for a moment. ‘Castiel, is that you?’

‘Yes, it’s me,’ said Cas, lowering Alfie to the ground.

‘You’re a lot taller than I remember,’ she said, hugging him. ‘And skinnier.’

‘It’s good to see you, Anna,’ said Cas.

Dean cleared his throat.

‘Yes, sorry. This is my friend Dean. Dean, these are my cousins Alfie and Anna.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ said Dean.

‘Where are Raphael and Balthazar?’ Cas asked, looking behind Anna.

‘Dad went on a fishing trip, but Raphael’s in our tent. He’s not happy about being here,’ she said with a sly smile.

‘That sounds like him.’

‘I didn’t know you were coming to this, how’d you swing it with your dad?’

‘I have to take over Gabriel’s dish duty for a week.’

‘Really? You know, he never struck me as such a reasonable guy.’

‘He’s not so bad,’ said Cas, looking down.

‘Whatever. Anyway, we’d better go. Get some food into this one,’ she said, nudging Alfie with her toe. ‘It’s so great to see you, Castiel.’ She hugged him again. ‘Keep in touch this time, okay? We miss you.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Cas said.

Anna pulled away and they both suddenly looked very solemn. It only lasted a moment before it was replaced with friendly smiles.

‘See ya,’ said Anna, leading Alfie away.

‘Bye, Cassie!’ Alfie called.

Cas watched them go, then slowly turned away.

‘So, you’ve got a cousin called Raphael, and your brothers are called Michael and Gabriel,’ said Dean, trying to keep up a conversation. ‘Y’all into your angels?’

Castiel’s lip twitched. ‘You could say that.’

‘What? I don’t get it.’

‘It was a competition of sorts that my mother and uncle had. They competed to find the best angel names.’ Cas explained. ‘So we all have them.’

‘But Alfie and Anna aren’t angel names.’

‘Anna is short for Anabiel, the angel invoked to cure stupidity.’

‘Your uncle feeling particularly sassy that afternoon?’

Cas ignored him. ‘Alfie is his middle name, and we all call him that. His first name is Samandriel, after the angel of imagination. My favourite one. It’s more interesting than my brothers and Raphael, they’re all named after archangels.’

‘Huh. Hold on, don’t you have a sister? Her name’s Lucy, right? What’s that about?’

‘She used to be Zakiel, but then she became Lucy. She’s more comfortable that way.’

‘Oh, I see.’

They were almost back at the tent when a smile suddenly spread over Dean’s face and he stopped. ‘Hold on, hold on a sec.’

‘What?’

‘What about Castiel? What’s his deal?’

‘Castiel… You have to promise not to laugh.’

‘I promise.’

Cas hesitated. ‘Castiel is the angel of Thursdays.’

Dean blinked rapidly. ‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘I was born on a Thursday, so I was named after the angel of Thursdays. If you pray to Castiel on a Thursday, he will guide you through any upcoming journey you may have.’

‘Oh,’ said Dean, biting his lip. ‘I am not laughing. I am so not laughing,’ he said, catching Cas’s expression.

 

When they arrived back at the tents, they found Sam teaching Mr Weasley how to properly build a fire. Sherlock was napping peacefully up against his tent, and Fred, George and Ginny were sat in the entrance of theirs, playing a card game.

‘We decided to leave him like that,’ Sam smiled, gesturing at Sherlock.

Dean crouched down to see the progress they were making with the fire, when he noticed Cas shivering slightly out of the corner of his eye. ‘Be back in a minute,’ he said, disappearing inside his tent. He emerged holding an old, cracked leather jacket and put it on Cas. ‘Better?’ he asked.

It was way too big for him, but he didn’t seem to mind. He wrapped it around himself and nodded. The two of them then sat down by the fire.

‘You’re letting him wear the jacket?’ Sam said incredulously.

‘What do you mean?’ said Cas.

‘It’s nothing, Cas, Sam’s just-‘

‘Dean _loves_ that jacket,’ Sam interrupted. ‘It’s our dad’s. Dean never lets anyone touch it.’

‘That’s – that’s not even. Whatever,’ Dean stammered. ‘The guy’s just bones, he needed it.’

‘Whatever you say, Dean,’ Sam sniggered, pulling out a box of matches. ‘Here, you try,’ he said, handing the matches to Mr Weasley.

Mr Weasley took them eagerly and immediately began breaking matches trying to light them.

Then Harry, Ron and Hermione arrived back with pots of water.

‘Took you long enough,’ said Fred.

‘We met a few people,’ said Ron. ‘Have you not got the fire started yet?’

‘Dad’s having fun with the matches,’ said George.

Sam was showing Mr Weasley the right movement needed to light the match.

‘Oops!’ said Mr Weasley as he accidentally lit a match and dropped it.

Dean rolled his eyes, pulled out a lighter, and lit the fire.

‘ _Dean!’_ Sam said indignantly.

‘What? We gotta eat sometime.’

‘Keep trying Mr Weasley,’ Sam encouraged. ‘You can get this.’

Mr Weasley did eventually light a match and not drop it, but it would be at least another hour before the fire was hot enough to cook anything. Thankfully, there was plenty to look at. Their tent seemed to be right by the main path to the Quidditch pitch, and Ministry officials kept hurrying past.

Mr Weasley kept up a running commentary for them while they waited for the fire.

They had just started cooking eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie and Percy came strolling out of the woods towards them.

‘Just Apparated, Dad,’ Percy said proudly. ‘Ah, excellent, lunch!’

Hermione went over to Sherlock and gently shook him awake. He jerked slightly as he woke and looked around blearily.

‘I’ll get John,’ he mumbled.

Mr Weasley made them all plates of food and John emerged from the tent, stretching, and hair stuck up on one side. ‘Oh, good, sausage and eggs, my favourite,’ he said, grabbing a plate.

Sherlock picked absent-mindedly at his food and Cas only ate half of one of his sausages.

Suddenly, Mr Weasley jumped to his feet, waving madly at the man coming towards them. ‘Ludo!’ he called. ‘Ludo, over here!’

Ludo Bagman was easily the most noticeable person around. He was wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of black and yellow. An enormous picture of a wasp was splashed across his chest. His nose was squashed, but his round blue eyes, short blond hair and rosy complexion made him look like an overgrown schoolboy.

‘Ahoy there!’ Bagman called happily, plainly in a state of wild excitement, and trotted over to them. ‘Arthur, old man,’ he puffed as he reached the campfire. ‘What a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements… not much for me to do at all!’

‘Seems that way,’ Mr Weasley said, smiling wryly. ‘Let me introduce you to everyone. My son, Percy, he’s just started at the Ministry – and this is Fred, no, George, sorry – _that’s_ Fred – Bill, Charlie, Ron – my daughter Ginny. And let’s see, a whole group of friends. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson over here, the Winchester boys, of course, Sam and Dean. And, erm… Cas – Castiel, that’s it! Castiel Edlund, I believe.’

‘Edlund, is that right? Your father wouldn’t be Carver Edlund, would he?’

Cas nodded stiffly.

‘Excellent! I used to play a little friendly Quidditch with your father back in the day. It’s been years, though, how’s old Chuck doing these days?’

‘He prefers to keep to himself,’ Cas mumbled. ‘Since my mother…’

‘Yes, yes, of course. I was very sorry to hear about that. I met her a few times, Theresa was a wonderful woman.’

Cas stood up and dashed into the tent, followed by Dean.

‘Something I said?’ Bagman said, bewildered. ‘Anyway, anyone fancy a flutter on the match?’

Mr Weasley hesitated, then said, ‘Oh… go on then. A Galleon on Ireland to win?’

‘A Galleon?’ Bagman looked slightly disappointed, but recovered himself and began writing it down.

John gave Fred and George a meaningful look. They were confused for a second, then excitedly pulled money from their pockets.

‘Any other takers?’ said Bagman.

‘They’re a bit young to be gambling,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘Molly wouldn’t like-‘

‘We’ll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts,’ said Fred, ‘that Ireland wins, but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh, and we’ll throw in a fake wand.’

‘Don’t go showing Mr Bagman rubbish like that,’ Percy hissed, but Bagman didn’t seem to think the wand was rubbish at all. In fact, his boyish face shone with excitement as he took it from Fred, and when the and gave a loud squeak and turned into a rubber chicken, Bagman roared with laughter. ‘Excellent! I haven’t seen one that convincing in years! I’d pay five Galleons for that!’

Percy froze in stunned disapproval.

‘Boys,’ said Mr Weasley under his breath. ‘I don’t want you betting… that’s all your savings… your mother-‘

‘Don’t be a spoilsport, Arthur!’ Bagman boomed. ‘They’re old enough to know what they want.’

Mr Weasley was helpless to stop the twins as they handed over all their money.

‘Couldn’t do me a brew, I suppose?’ Bagman said cheerfully. ‘I’m keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite’s been making difficulties, and I can’t understand a word he’s saying. Barty’ll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages.’

‘Mr Crouch?’ Percy said excitedly. ‘He speaks over two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll…’

‘Anyone can speak Troll,’ said Fred dismissively, ‘all you have to do is point and grunt.’

Percy threw Fred an extremely nasty look, and stoked the fire vigorously.

‘Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?’ Mr Weasley asked as Bagman settled on the grass by the fire.

John felt his chest constrict once more. ‘Oh no,’ he whispered, gripping Sherlock’s knee.

‘Bertha Jorkins again?’ Sherlock whispered, but John had already been deafened by the vision. ‘Do we have any water?’ he asked those gathered around the fire.

‘No, the last of it’s in the kettle,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘How about tea?’

‘It’ll have to do,’ said Sherlock, reaching out for a mug.

‘Is he all right?’ Bagman asked, seeing John’s expression and balled fists.

‘He’s fine,’ Sherlock said briskly.

Sam opened his mouth, but Ron elbowed him, shaking his head.

After a minute, John uttered a soft gasp and shuddered as he came out of the vision.

‘Here, tea. Careful, it’s hot,’ Sherlock said. John’s hands were shaking too much to hold the mug on his own, so Sherlock helped him take a sip. ‘It’s August, nineteen ninety-four. We’re at the Quidditch World Cup.’

John nodded, then exhaled and relaxed a little. ‘I’m okay,’ he said, slightly croakily.

‘Same again?’ Sherlock asked.

‘Same again.’ John looked over at Bagman. ‘Should we tell him?’

‘Not until we hear back from Dumbledore,’ said Sherlock.

‘Yeah. Probably for the best.’ John took another sip of his tea, this time on his own. In truth, he was not at all sure whether or not they were doing the right thing, though with his current knowledge of Cornelius Fudge was enough to make him hesitate sharing with the Ministry, for now.

Just then, another wizard Apparated right by their fire.

‘Barty!’ Bagman exclaimed.

Barty Crouch was stiff, crisply dressed and immaculately groomed. It was now clear why Percy idolised him.

‘Pull up a bit of grass, Barty,’ Bagman said brightly, patting the ground beside him.

‘No, thank you, Ludo,’ said Crouch, a bite of impatience in his voice. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box.’

‘Oh, is _that_ what they’re after? I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent.

‘Mr Crouch!’ Percy said breathlessly. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘Oh,’ said Mr Crouch, looking over Percy in mild surprise. ‘Yes – thank you, Weatherby.’

Fred and George choked on their own mugs of tea, then looked up at Percy, huge grins on their faces.

‘So, been keeping busy, Barty?’ Bagman said breezily.

‘Fairly,’ Mr Crouch said drily. ‘Organising Portkeys across five continents is no mean feat, Ludo.’

‘I expect you’ll both be glad when this is all over?’ said Mr Weasley.

Bagman looked shocked. ‘Glad! I don’t know when I’ve had more fun! Still, it’s not as though we haven’t got anything to look forward to, eh, Barty? Eh? Plenty left to organise, eh?’

Mr Crouch raised his eyebrows at Bagman. ‘We agreed not to make any announcements until all the details-‘

‘Oh, details!’ said Bagman. ‘They’ve signed, haven’t they? They’ve agreed, haven’t they? I bet you these kids’ll know soon enough anyway. I mean, it’s happening at Hogwarts-‘

‘Ludo, we need to meet with the Bulgarians, you know,’ said Mr Crouch sharply, cutting across Bagman’s remarks. ‘Thank you for the tea, Weatherby.’ He pushed his undrunk tea back at Percy and waited for Bagman to struggle to his feet.

‘See you later!’ said Bagman. ‘You’ll be in the Top Box with me – I’m commentating!’

He waved, Barty Crouch nodded curtly, and the two of them Disapparated.

‘What’s happening at Hogwarts, Dad?’ said Fred at once. ‘What were they talking about?’

‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ said Mr Weasley, smiling.

‘It’s classified information until such time as the Ministry decides to release it,’ Percy said stiffly. ‘Mr Crouch was quite right not to disclose it.’

‘Oh, shut up, Weatherby,’ said Fred.

Dean poked his head out of the tent. ‘Is he gone?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, he’s gone,’ said Sam.

‘Okay, come on.’ Dean reached behind him and Castiel emerged from the tent. His eyes and nose were red and Hermione passed him a cup of tea. He sat down and stared into his tea without a word.

Dean sat closely beside him, and deflected any conversation directed at him.

By the time evening arrived, the excitement in the air was palpable. Salesmen were Apparating every few feet with carts full of souvenirs and merchandise.

‘I’ve been saving my pocket money all summer for this,’ said Ron as one of the salesmen approached them. Ron bought himself a dancing shamrock hat and a large green rosette, but he also bought a small figure of Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker. The miniature walked backwards and forwards over Ron’s hand.

They all got programmes and Omnioculars – sets of binoculars that had slow motion, rewind and play-by-play functions.

Sam and Dean bought large, ostentatious hats and laughed at each other wearing them.

Cas bought a single, small rosette and pinned it to his jumper.

John insisted that Sherlock wear one of the dancing Shamrock hat, and he could not have looked less impressed.

Then, a deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods. Green and red lanterns blazed to life in the trees, lighting a path to the pitch.

‘It’s time!’ said Mr Weasley, looking as excited as any of them. ‘Come on, let’s go!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, what's up! Thanks to Sylestia for the lovely comment, it means a lot to me.  
> Another long chapter, but it seems to me that most of the chapters will be about this length, so I hope no one minds. I hope you all enjoy it and I'll see you next time!


	6. The Quidditch World Cup

The Quidditch World Cup

John walked beside Sherlock as they followed the lantern-lit trail. Despite already knowing the outcome of the match, he was thoroughly enjoying himself. The atmosphere of excitement was highly infectious, and soon all of them were chattering and joking loudly. They walked through the woods for about twenty minutes until they emerged in the shadow of the gigantic stadium. Though they could only see a fraction of the immense gold walls from where they were standing, they could tell that ten cathedrals could easily fit inside it.

There was a Ministry witch checking tickets and directing people at the entrances.

'Prime seats!' she said, checking the Weasleys' tickets. 'Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, as high as you can go.' She directed John and Sherlock the same way, then checked Dean, Sam and Castiel's tickets. 'Right, middle seats, row thirty-six- hold on, Winchester?' she said, digging in her pockets. 'I've got a note about this – hold on – yes. This says you've been requested in the Top Box, by the Minister – wow! Aren't you three lucky! Go on, same way as them, then.'

Sam's mouth dropped open, ecstatic about their upgrade. 'Let's go, Dean!' he yelled, running into the entrance.

'Sam, wait!' Dean called, chasing after Sam and dragging Cas with him.

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple and everything had a golden glow.

John found himself having to lead Sherlock the further up they went.

'I didn't realise the Top Box would be so high up,' Sherlock muttered as people around them filtered out into the stands.

'I don't know what else you thought it would be, being called the Top Box,' John said back, smirking slightly.

At las, they reached the very top and found themselves in a small box situated exactly half way between the goalposts. There were two rows of purple chairs, although a few extra ad been squeezed into one corner for the Winchesters and Castiel.

John looked around in awe. A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their seats below, seats that rose in levels around the oval pitch.

Sherlock, however, had his eyes fixed on the magical billboard that was floating across them. Gold letters kept writing themselves on the board, then wiping itself away, advertising different magical products, such as  _Mrs Skower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover._

'Come on, over here,' said John, taking Sherlock's hand and bringing him to his seat.

Sherlock relaxed a little once sat down, and managed to look around. To his great surprise, there was a house-elf sitting behind them.

' _Dobby?'_ said Harry, also noticing the elf.

But it was not Dobby.

'Did sir just call me Dobby?' the elf squeaked, hiding her face to block out the high view.

John turned around too and found his eyes being drawn to the empty seat beside her.

'Sorry,' said Harry. 'I just thought you were someone I knew.'

'But I knows Dobby too, sir!' squeaked the elf from between her fingers. 'My name is Winky, sir – and you, sir, you is surely Harry Potter?'

'Yeah, I am.'

'But Dobby talks of you all the time, sir!'

'How is he?' said Harry. 'How's freedom suiting him?'

'Ah, sir,' said Winky, shaking her head. 'Ah, sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, but I is not sure you is doing Dobby a favour, sir, when you is setting him free.'

'Why?' said Harry 'What's wrong with him?'

'Freedom is going to Dobby's head, sir,' said Winky sadly. 'Ideas above his station, sir. Can't get another position, sir.'

'Why not?'

Winky lowered her head and whispered, ' _He is wanting paying for his work, sir.'_

'Paying?' Harry said blankly. 'Well – why shouldn't he be paid?'

Winky looked horrified at the idea. 'House-elves is not paid, sir! No, no, no. I says, next thing I hear, you is up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, like some common goblin.'

'Well, it's about time he had a bit of fun,' said Harry.

'Who's Dobby?' Dean whispered to Castiel.

'He's a house-elf that used to work for the Malfoys,' Cas whispered back. 'He tried to warn Harry about the Chamber of Secrets, and Harry tricked Lucius Malfoy into freeing him.'

'Whoa. I missed a lot, didn't I?'

'Yes.'

'I is not liking heights at all, Harry Potter,' Winky gulped, glancing over the edge of the box, 'but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir.'

'Why's he sent you up here if he knows you don't like heights?' Harry frowned.

'Master – master wants me to save him a seat, Harry Potter, he is very busy,' said Winky, tilting her head at the empty seat that John was still staring at. 'Winky is wishing she is back in master's tent, Harry Potter, but Winky does what she is told. Winky is a good house-elf.' She gave the edge of the box another frightened look, and hid her eyes completely again.

They turned away from WInky, John somewhat reluctantly, and Ron started testing his Omnioculars.

'Wild!' he said, twiddling the replay knob on the side. 'I can make that old bloke down there pick his nose again… and again… and again…'

Meanwhile, Hermione was skimming eagerly through her velvet-covered, tasselled programme. '"A display from the team mascots will precede the match",' she read aloud.

'Oh, that's always worth watching,' said Mr Weasley. 'National teams bring creatures from their native land, you know, to put on a bit of a show.'

Over the next half an hour, the box began to fill, and the Minister for Magic arrived with the Bulgarian Minister.

'Sam, Dean, good to see you,' he smiled. 'Can't have you boys sitting all the way down the way down there. We've got the best view up here… ah, there's Lucius!'

They all turned and there were the Malfoys, edging along the second row. Lucius, Draco, and a tall, slim woman that had an expression that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose.

'Ah, Fudge,' said Lucius, holding out his hand. 'How are you? I don't believe you've met my wife Narcissa? Or our son Draco?'

'How do you do? How do you do?' said Fudge. 'Let's see, introductions. You know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?'

It was a tense moment. The last time they had met as in Flourish and Blotts, where they had a fist fight in front of everyone.

Lucius's cold, grey eyes swept over Mr Weasley, then up and down the row. 'Good Lord, Arthur,' he said softly. 'What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn't have fetched this much?'

Fudge, who wasn't listening, said, 'Lucius has just given a  _very_ generous contribution to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He's here as my guest.'

'How-how nice,' Mr Weasley said in a strained voice.

Then Dean leaned over and looked Lucius straight in the eye with a big smile on his face. 'Actually, Mr Malfoy,' he said quietly, 'we're all here because we have friends and people like us. See, we don't have to throw money at everything to make things work for us. Of course, Draco would know all about that, right?' Dean's gaze switched to Draco. 'Since he got on the Slytherin team because people liked him and thought he was good, right?' Dean's smile widened as Draco turned slightly pink, then leaned back in his seat.

Lucius's lips curled as his eyes wandered over Hermione and John, but he didn't dare say anything in front of the Minister. Instead, the three of them continued on down the row.

'Slimy gits,' Ron muttered.

'They're just full of it,' Dean said breezily. 'They're sour 'cause no one'll listen to them unless they flash the cash.'

Fred and George sniggered appreciatively.

'I'm here all week,' Dean grinned.

Just then, Ludo Bagman charged into the box. 'Everyone ready?' he said, his face gleaming in excitement. 'Minister, ready to go?'

'Ready when you are, Ludo,' said Fudge.

Bagman whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat and said, ' _Sonorus!'_ then spoke over the roar of sound that was filling the stadium. 'Ladies and gentlemen… welcome!' he said, voice booming into every corner of the stands. 'Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!'

The huge billboard wiped clear of its adverts and now showed BULGARIA: ZERO, IRELAND: ZERO.

'And now, without further ado,' Bagman said, 'allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian team mascots!'

The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared in approval.

'I wonder what they've brought?' said Mr Weasley, leaning forward in his seat. 'Aaah.' He suddenly whipped off his glasses and polished them hurriedly on his robes. ' _Veela_.'

'What are Veela?' said John, but his question was answered for him by the hundred Veela that glided onto the pitch. They were women. Beautiful in a superhuman sort of way, with pale skin that was almost luminous and white-gold hair.

Then the music started, the Veela began to dance, and everyone around John began behaving very strangely indeed. Harry, Ron and Dean all rose to their feet, slack expressions on their faces. Sam remained in his seat, looking dazed.

Joh, too, was feeling a lot more relaxed. He turned his head to look at Sherlock and his breath caught in his throat. Perhaps it was the light, or the spell given off by the Veela, but Sherlock's skin suddenly looked so soft and smooth that John had to resist the urge to reach out and stroke his cheek. John bit his lip and tore his gaze away, stomach churning in a mixture of fear and a strange longing he had never felt before.

'Are you all right?' said Sherlock asked, and John silently cursed himself. He had forgotten that Sherlock could tell what he was feeling most of the time, and made a mental note to hide it better in the future.

'Yeah, I'm fine,' said John, ignoring the narrowed eyes in his direction.

Meanwhile, Dean was contemplating exactly what sort of dive from the stadium would impress the Veela the most, when a hand gripped his wrist. He looked back and saw Cas looking extremely concerned.

'What are you doing?' Cas asked, holding Dean's wrist tightly.

'I – I don't –'

Castiel's touch seemed to have broken the spell that the Veela had on him, but now that he was looking, he realised he had never noticed how dazzlingly blue Cas's eyes were…

The music subsided and the Veela stopped dancing. Hermione pulled Harry back to his seat, tutting loudly, and there were angry shouts from around the stadium. Ron was moodily shredding the shamrocks on his hat and Mr Weasley took it from him.

'You'll be wanting that once the Irish have had their say,' Mr Weasley said, smiling slightly.

The Veela settled down on their side of the pitch, tossing their hair every so often.

'And now,' roared Bagman's voice, 'kindly put your wands in the air… for the Irish National Team Mascots!'

What seemed like a huge green and gold comet came zooming across the pitch. It split itself in half and flew across to each of the goalposts. A bright rainbow arched between them, connecting them for a moment before fading again. The two balls came together again in the centre of the pitch, merging to form a huge shamrock.

John squinted up and realised that it was comprised of thousands of tiny men in red waistcoats, carrying either a gold or green lantern.

The shamrock formation soared over the stands and the crowd roared its approval as heavy gold coins rained down on them.

'Leprechauns!' Mr Weasley shouted over tumultuous applause.

The shamrock dissipated and the leprechauns flew down and sat cross-legged on their side of the pitch to watch the match.

'Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team. I give you – Dimitrov!'

A scarlet-clad figure shot out of the entrance below, barely more than a blur.

'Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaand –  _Krum!'_

Viktor Krum was thin, dark and sallow-skinned, with a large, curved nose and thick black eyebrows. It was hard to believe that he was only eighteen.

'And now, please greet – the Irish National Quidditch Team!' Bagman yelled. 'Presenting – Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quiggley! Aaaaaand –  _Lynch!'_

Seven green blurs shot onto the pitch, each of them flying a shiny new Firebolt.

'And here all the way from Egypt, our referee: acclaimed chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!'

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald, but with an impressively large moustache, strode out onto the field in all gold robes. He was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm and his broomstick under the other. He mounted his broom and kicked the crate open. Four balls, the Quaffle, two Bludgers, and the Golden Snitch, all burst free and flew off in different directions.

John watched one of the Bludgers go. He remembered that Harry had once said he would make a good Beater, and smiled as he briefly entertained the idea.

With a sharp blast of the whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

'Theeeeeeeeeey're OFF!' screamed Bagman. 'And its Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!'

The speed of the players was incredible. The Chasers were throwing the Quaffle around so fast that Bagman only had time to say their names.

John was so enthralled by the speed at which the Beaters were hitting the Bludgers back and forth that he barely noticed when either team scored, nor that he was leaning forward in his seat.

The match quickly became faster and more brutal. The Bulgarian Beaters wacked the Bludgers towards the Irish Chasers with increasing ferocity, forcing them to scatter several times, until the Bulgarians took control of the Quaffle and scored.

'Cover your ears, boys,' Mr Weasley said, hastily stuffing his fingers in his ears.

The Veela had started dancing again, and by the time they stopped, Bulgaria were once again in control of the Quaffle.

'Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova – oh, I say!' roared Bagman.

One hundred thousand witches and wizards gasped as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummeted through the centre of the Chasers.

'They're going to crash!' Hermione screamed.

She was half right. At the very last moment, Viktor Krum pulled out of the dive and spiralled off. Lynch, however, hit the ground with a dull thud that could be heard throughout the stadium. A huge groan rose from the Irish seats.

'Fool,' moaned Mr Weasley. 'Krum was feinting!'

'It's time out!' yelled Bagman's voice. 'As trained medi-wizards hurry onto the pitch to examine Aidan Lynch!'

Castiel leaned over the side of the box, his Omnioculars focused on the medi-wizards. They revived Lynch and made him drink several cups of potion before allowing him to mount his Firebolt.

His revival seemed to give Ireland a new heart. When Mostafa blew the whistle, the Chasers moved into action with a skill unrivalled by anything they had seen before. After fifteen more fast and furious minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead by ten more goals. They were now leading by one hundred and thirty points to ten, and the game was starting to get dirtier.

As Mullet shot towards the goalposts, the Bulgarian Keeper flew out to meet her. Whatever happened was over too quickly to see properly, but a whistle from Mostafa told them it was a foul.

'And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task – excessive use of elbows!' Bagman informed them. 'And – yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!'

The leprechauns, who had risen angrily into the air like a swarm of glittering hornets, darted together to form 'HA HA HA'. The Veela on the other side of the pitch leapt to their feet, tossed their hair angrily and started to dance again.

'Look at the referee!' Hermione giggled.

Mostafa had landed right in front of the Veela, flexing his muscles and smoothing his moustache.

'Now, we can't have that!' said Bagman, though sounding highly amused. 'Someone slap the referee!'

A medi-wizard came tearing across the pitch, fingers stuffed in his ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins.

Mostafa seemed to come to himself and started shouting at the Veela, who stopped dancing and looked mutinous.

'Unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is attempting to send off the Bulgarian Team Mascots!' said Bagman. 'Now  _there's_ something we haven't seen before… oh, this could turn nasty…'

It did. The Bulgarian Beaters landed either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him, gesticulating at the leprechauns, who had now gleefully formed 'HEE HEE HEE'. Mostafa was not convinced by their arguments, however. He jabbed his finger into the air, clearly telling them to get flying again, and gave two short blasts on his whistle when they refused.

' _Two_ penalties for Ireland!' shouted Bagman, and the Bulgarian crowd howled in anger. 'Vulkov and Vulchanov had better get back on their brooms… yes… there they go… and Troy takes the Quaffle…'

The Beaters on both sides were now acting without mercy. Volkov and Vulchanov in particular seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludger or human as they swung them violently through the air. Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom.

' _Foul!'_ roared the Irish supporters as one, rising up in a great wave of green.

'Foul!' echoed Bagman's voice. 'Dimitrov skins Moran – deliberately flying to collide there – it's got to be another penalty – yes, there's the whistle.'

The leprechauns had flown into the air again, this time forming a giant hand that was making a very rude gesture across the pitch towards the Veela. At this, the Veela lost control. They launched themselves across the pitch, and began throwing what looked like handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. They didn't look remotely beautiful now, either. Their faces elongated into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings burst from their shoulders.

Ministry wizards flooded onto the field to separate the Veela and the leprechauns, but with little success. Meanwhile, the Quaffle continued to change hands at the speed of a bullet.

'Levski – Dimitrove – Moran – Troy – Mullet – Ivanova – Moran again – Moran – MORAN SCORES!'

But the cheers of the Irish supporters were hardly heard over the shrieks of the Veela, the blasts issuing from the Ministry members' wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians.

An Irish Beater swung heavily at a passing Bludger, and hit it as hard as possible towards Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him hard in the face.

There was a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum's nose looked broken and there was blood everywhere. Mostafa did not blow his whistle, however, distracted as he was by the fire throwing Veela.

'Time out!' Ron roared. 'Come on, he can't play like that!'

' _Look at Lynch!'_ Harry yelled.

The Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive.

'He sees the Snitch!' Sam shouted excitedly, jumping up and down.

Half the crowd seemed to have realised what was going on. The Irish supporters screamed their Seeker on, but Krum was on his tail, then drew level with him as they hurtled closer to the ground.

'They're going to crash!' shrieked Hermione.

'Lynch is!' yelled Harry.

And he was right. For a second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force, and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry Veela.

'The Snitch! Where's the Snitch!' Charlie bellowed down the row.

'He's got it – Krum's got it – it's all over!' shouted Harry.

Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air. His fist was held high, a glint of gold in his hand. The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY, IRELAND: ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY.

Slowly, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder, and erupted into screams of delight as they realised what happened.

'IRELAND WIN!' shouted Bagman. 'KRUM GETS THE SNITCH – BUT IRELAND WIN – good Lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!'

John smirked and looked over at Fred and George, whose identical dumbstruck expressions turned into pure glee.

The mascots finally separated, the Veela shrinking back into their usual, beautiful selves looking dispirited and forlorn, and the leprechauns zooming around, showering the Irish team in gold.

'And the Irish team performs a lap of honour, flanked by their mascots. The Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!' Bagman announced.

They were all suddenly dazzled by a blinding white light as the Top Box was magically illuminated. Two wizards entered the box and handed Fudge an immense golden cup.

'Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers – Bulgaria!'

And up the stairs into the box came the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd applauded appreciatively, and a thousand Omniocular lenses flashed in their direction.

One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats, and Bagman called out their names as each of them shook hands with their own Minister, then with Fudge.

Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He seemed much less co-ordinated on solid ground. He was slightly duck-footed and round-shouldered, but when his name was called, the whole stadium gave an ear-splitting roar.

Then came the Irish team. Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly. The second crash seemed to have dazed him. His eyes were unfocused, but he grinned happily as Troy and Quiggley lifted the cup into the air. They then left to perform another lap of honour, Lynch on the back of Connolly's broom, grinning in a bemused sort of way.

Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, ' _Quietus,'_ then massaged his neck a little. 'They'll be talking about that one for years,' he said, a bit hoarsely, but at normal volume. 'A really unexpected twist, that… shame it couldn't have lasted longer… ah, yes… yes, I owe you… how much?'

Fred and George had scrambled over their seats and stood in front of Bagman, hands outstretched and with broad grins on their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up guys, welcome back! Thanks to rainingcatz, Padfoot and Pepipanda for the comments :)   
> It's been a crazy few weeks guys :L I was working for a bit as a charity fundraiser and it was a wild ride. I'm also writing my first book hooray! I have a wicked cold right now so I apologise if the typos are worse than usual.
> 
> As a side note, I'm thinking of doing some kind of supernatural/game of thrones sort of thing, what do you guys think?
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed it and I'll see you all next time!


	7. The Dark Mark

The Dark Mark

 

‘ _Don’t_ tell your other you’ve been gambling,’ Mr Weasley implored Fred and George, as they all made their way down the purple-carpeted stairs.

‘Don’t worry, Dad,’ said Fred ‘we’ve got big plans for this money, we don’t want it confiscated.’

Mr Weasley looked for a moment as though he was going to ask what these big plans were, but seemed to decide, upon further reflection, that he didn’t want to know.

They let themselves get swept up into the crowd going back to the campsite. Once they entered the woods, John began to feel a creeping sense of unease, the same he had been feeling about the World Cup for weeks. He tried to look further to see the cause, but was still only able to see darkness with a few flickering lights and odd shape, until someone in the crowd shoved past him and snapped him out of it completely, not hanging around long enough to hear his muttered profanity directed at them.

When they got back to the tent, no one particularly felt like sleeping so Mr Weasley agreed to one mug of hot chocolate before bed. They all went into the living room in Sherlock’s tent, where there was more room.

John was having a very engaging conversation with Fred and George about the Beaters, when a very strange sensation came over him, as if he was both weightless and spinning. He put both his arms out to try and steady himself. Sherlock was sitting across the room with Castiel, and his eyes flashed over to John.

‘Can I ask you two a question?’ John said to Fred and George. ‘Am I – floating?’

‘Er – no,’ said Fred.

‘Oh. That’s new. What do you think that’s about?’

‘That’s not really our area, John.’

‘Yeah, true.’ Then he felt something similar to his feet hitting the ground, and the spinning abruptly stopped. ‘Okay, I think that’s it now. Pass me some hot chocolate?’

George gave him a mug. ‘You sure you’re all right?’

‘Yep, fine,’ John said, taking a sip. ‘Sort of feels like I’m running.’

‘Running from what?’ said Sherlock, coming over.

‘Don’t know, can’t see it.’

‘What can I do?’

‘Nothing, as far as I can tell.’

Sherlock nodded and hovered anxiously, while everyone else continued discussing the match.

It wasn’t until Sam and Ginny fell asleep right at the table that Mr Weasley realised what time it was, and insisted that they all go to bed. Everyone but John and Sherlock left for their own tents, leaving it quiet but for the singing and celebrating from around the campsite.

‘Sherlock?’ said John as they changed into their pyjamas in his room.

‘Yes?’

‘Why can’t I – I dunno – feel you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well I – we have this connection thing, right? You can feel m and I used to feel you sometimes, but now it’s gone.’

‘That is quite strange,’ Sherlock said slowly. ‘But what makes you think I know?’

John shrugged. ‘I don’t know. You just always seem to have the answer.’

Sherlock smiled at him. ‘I appreciate your faith in me, John, but I’m afraid I know as much about this as you do. Perhaps we should visit the centaurs again when we return to Hogwarts.’

‘Yeah maybe. I’d rather avoid it though. They’re not the easiest to deal with.’ John then yawned and stretched. ‘Whatever it is, it’s going to have to wait.’

‘Goodnight, John.’

 ‘’Night.’

Sherlock left and John climbed into the comfortable bed, wishing his bed at Hogwarts was as soft.

It seemed that no sooner had his head hit the pillow that he was awake again, in complete darkness and sweating profusely He sat up and listened as the sounds of celebration suddenly turned into screams of fear and the pounding of hundreds of running feet.

‘ _Sherlock!’_ he shouted, scrambling out of bed.

Sherlock was there in an instant, throwing a coat on over his pyjamas and handing John his. ‘Let’s go,’ he said.

Outside was chaos. In the e light of the few flickering fires that were still lit, they could see people running into the woods, away from something moving towards them on the other side of the campsite. Everyone else clambered out of their tents as well, and a blast of green light lit up what was approaching them.

A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together, wands pointed straight up, was marching slowly across the field. Their heads were hooded and faces masked. High above them, floating along in mid-air, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. Two of the figures were very small.

More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. Once or twice one of the marchers blasted a tent out of their way. Several caught fire. The screaming grew louder.

The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed by a burning tent, and John recognised one of them as   Mr Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three must be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flipped Mrs Roberts upside down Her nightdress fell down and she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her hooted with glee.

‘That’s sick,’ Ron muttered, watching the small Muggle boy spinning like a top, his head flopping limply from side to side.

John ground his teeth and took a step forward, feeling quite queasy once again, but Sherlock grabbed his elbow.

‘Don’t,’ he said.

‘But-‘

‘ _Don’t.’_

Bill, Charlie and Percy rolled up their sleeves and ran towards the crowd with their wands out.

‘We’re going to help the Ministry,’ Mr Weasley shouted over the noise, rolling up his own sleeves. ‘You lot, get into the woods and _stick together._ I’ll come for you when we’ve got this sorted.’

Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction towards the trouble and Mr Weasley tore after them.

‘Come on,’ said Dean, throwing an angry look at the crowd, but grabbing Sam and pulling him towards the wood. The rest of them followed, but stopped at the entrance. The coloured lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished, so there were a lot of people blundering around in the dark. Children were crying, anxious shouts and panicked voices reverberated around them, and John felt himself being pushed around by people whose faces he couldn’t see. Then he heard Ron yell in pain.

‘What’s happened? Hermione said anxiously. ‘Ron, where are you? Oh, this is stupid – _Lumos!’_

She illuminated her wand and directed its narrow beam across the path. Ron was lying sprawled on the ground.

‘Tripped over a tree root,’ he said angrily, getting to his feet.

‘Well, with feet that size, hard not to,’ said a drawling voice.

They turned and saw Draco Malfoy alone, leaning against a tree, looking completely relaxed. ‘Hadn’t you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn’t want _them_ spotted, would you?’ He nodded at John and Hermione.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Hermione said defiantly.

‘They’re after _Muggles,’_ said Malfoy. ‘D’you want to be spun around in mid-air? If you do hang around… They’re moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh.’

‘They’re both magic,’ Harry snarled.

‘Have it your own way, Potter,’ said Malfoy. ‘If you think they can’t spot a Mudblood, stay where you are.’

‘You watch your mouth!’ shouted Ron.

Sherlock’s grip on John tightened in anger.

‘Come on,’ said Hermione, with a disgusted look at Malfoy, ‘let’s go and find the others.’

‘Keep that big bushy head down, Granger,’ Malfoy sneered.

‘Come on,’ Hermione repeated, pulling Ron up the path.

‘I bet you anything his dad is one of those masked lot,’ Ron said hotly as they continued on.

‘Well, with any luck, the Ministry will catch him,’ said Hermione. ‘Oh, I can’t believe this, where have the others got to?’

Fred, George and Ginny where nowhere to be seen, nor where Sam and Dean, though the path was packed with plenty of other extremely nervous people.

A huddle of teenagers in their pyjamas were arguing a little way along the path. When they saw Hermione and the boys, a girl with thick, curly hair turned and said quickly, ‘O _ù est Madame Maxime? Nous l’avons perdue.’_

Cas blinked. ‘ _Je ne sais pas Madame Maxime, désolé,’_ he said.

‘Oh. _Merci.’_ She turned her back on them and they moved on.

‘They must go to Beauxbatons,’ said Hermione.

‘Most likely,’ said Cas.

‘The others can’t have got far,’ said Ron, pulling out his wand and lighting it.

The rest of them followed suit, except Harry.

‘Ah, no, I don’t believe it,’ he said, digging through his pockets. ‘I’ve lost my wand!’

‘You’re kidding?’ said John.

They all raised their wands high so that Harry could get a good look around, but it wasn’t there.

‘Maybe it’s back in the tent,’ said Ron.

‘Maybe I fell out of your pocket when we were running?’ Hermione said anxiously.

‘Yeah, maybe,’ said Harry. ‘John, can you...?’

Right, yeah.’ John closed his eyes and concentrated on Harry’s wand, almost confident that his familiarity with it would make it easier for him to see it. ‘Okay, yeah, I can see it slipping out of your pocket in the – in the Top Box.’ But it disappeared again when a wave of nausea hit him.

‘The Ministry will have picked it up then,’ said Ron. ‘We can get it back once this is all sorted.’

A rustling noise made them all jump Winky the house-elf was fighting her way out of a clump of bushes nearby. She was moving with great difficulty, as though someone invisible was trying to hold her back.

John gasped quietly as everything around him pulsed, but there was too much going on around him for him to be able to focus.

‘There is bad wizards about!’ Winky squeaked, her voice echoing in John’s ears. ‘People high – high in the air! Winky is getting out of the way!’ Then she disappeared into the trees on the other side of the path, panting and squeaking as she fought the force that was restraining her.

Once she was gone, John felt slightly more normal, but the nausea remained.

‘What’s up with her?’ said Ron. ‘Why can’t she run?’

‘Bet she didn’t get permission to hide,’ said Harry.

‘You know, house-elves get a _very_ raw deal,’ Hermione said indignantly. ‘It’s slavery, that’s what it is!’

Sherlock tugged on the cuffs of his sleeves, slightly uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking.

‘Well, they’re happy, aren’t they?’ Ron said. ‘You heard Winky at the match. “House-elves is not supposed to have fun”, that’s what she likes, being bossed around.’

‘It’s people like _you,_ Ron,’ Hermione began hotly, ‘who prop up unjust systems because they’re too lazy to-‘

A loud bang echoed from the edge of the wood.

‘Let’s just keep moving,’ Ron said nervously.

They followed the dark path deeper into the woods, still keeping an eye out for the others, until they came across a patch of silvery light where three Veela were standing surrounded by a gaggle of you wizards. They were all talking loudly, making absurd claims to impress the Veela.

‘Did I tell you I’ve invented a broomstick that’ll reach Jupiter?’ Ron yelled, his face slack.

Sherlock tutted and Hermione said, ‘ _Honestly!’_ as she and Harry had to drag him away by the arms.

By the time the sounds of the Veela and their admirers had faded completely, they were in the very heart of the woods. They seemed to be alone and everything was much quieter.

‘Let’s just wait here,’ said John, thankful for the quiet. ‘We’ll hear anyone coming.’

‘Good idea. There’s a clearing just there,’ said Sherlock.

Though unsettled by the quiet rustling of the trees around the clearing, John and Sherlock sat down on a raised tree root together. Harry, Ron and Hermione huddled together close by, but Castiel was too nervous to stand still and began walking around the perimeter of the clearing.

John then attempted to force a vision, though he wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for. The quiet conversation that Harry, Ron and Hermione were having wasn’t nearly as distracting as the earlier chaos. He saw Winky again, first in the woods, then in the Top Box, only now there was a translucent white cloud following her. ‘What does that mean?’ he muttered, but he didn’t get the chance to work it out.

A sound like someone staggering towards their clearing caused all of them to quickly look around, and Castiel to back away from the edge of the trees. They waited, stock still, listening to the sounds of uneven footsteps, which suddenly came to a halt.

‘Hello?’ called Harry.

There was silence.

‘Who’s there?’ said Harry.

Then, without warning, the silence was rent by a loud voice shouting out a spell.

‘ _MORSMORDRE!’_

Something vast, green and glittering erupted from beneath the dark trees and into the sky. A colossal skull, composed of what seemed like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue, had appeared in the sky.

Suddenly, John couldn’t breathe. Crippling fear, pain and anger came in waves, from everyone who had ever seen it or ever would. He collapsed to his knees and wrapped his arms around himself. Screams and crying filled his ears, a hundred times worse than any of the times he’d seen Bertha Jorkins. Hundreds of faces of all ages flashed before his eyes. He whimpered and felt a hand grip his shoulder.

Sherlock had knelt down beside him and couldn’t tell whether the screams he was hearing were coming from John or from the people in the woods around them.

‘We have to go,’ said Hermione, looking terrified.

‘I don’t think we’re going anywhere,’ said Sherlock, holding onto John who was rocking back and forth.

‘What’s the matter?’ said Harry, startled.

‘It’s the Dark Mark, Harry!’ Hermione groaned. ‘It’s You-Know-Who’s sign!’

‘We have to get out of here,’ said Cas. He too was extremely pale.

‘But John-‘

‘Lift him up.’

Sherlock and Cas put their arms around John’s waist and pulled him to his feet. He was limp and couldn’t stand, but they began dragging him out of the clearing. They didn’t get far, however, before there was a series of popping noises and about twenty or so wizards appeared, surrounding them. In a split second, Sherlock realised they had their wands out, and were aiming directly at the six of them. ‘GET DOWN!’ he yelled, pulling John and Castiel down to the ground. Harry had done the same with Ron and Hermione.

‘ _STUPEFY!’_ roared all twenty voices and jets of fiery red light flew over their heads, rebounding off the trees and into the darkness.

‘Stop!’ yelled a voice. ‘STOP! _That’s my son!’_

The spells stopped bouncing around and the wizards all lowered their wands. Mr Weasley and Mycroft came striding over to them.

‘Ron,’ said Mr Weasley shakily. ‘Are you all okay?’

‘Out of the way, Arthur,’ said a cold, curt voice.

It was Mr Crouch. He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on them. Everyone but John and Sherlock got to their feet to meet them.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Mycroft asked Sherlock as he coaxed John into a sitting position. His face was scrunched up and his fists clamped on large clumps of his own hair.

‘The Dark Mark,’ Sherlock muttered. ‘It set him off.’

‘What will you tell them?’

‘Not my priority right now.’ Sherlock winced at a throbbing in his temples.

‘Which of you did it?’ Crouch snapped, his sharp eyes darting between them all. ‘Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?’

‘You’ve got to be joking,’ Sherlock said, looking up. ‘You can’t possibly think we had anything to do with this?’

‘Do not lie, sir!’ Crouch shouted, wand pointed at Sherlock. ‘You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!’

‘This is absurd,’ said Mycroft. ‘None of them were more than infants when You-Know-Who disappeared, where on earth would they have learned to conjure the Mark?’

‘It’s all highly suspicious!’ said Mr Crouch, his eyes popping and making him look slightly mad. ‘You, get up!’ He pointed his wand at John.

‘Leave him alone, he’s not well!’ said Hermione.

‘Unwell, or cursed?’ Then he moved on to Cas. ‘And you – you’re awfully quiet. Something to hide?’

Cas crumpled slightly, rubbing his arm and biting his lip at the same time.

‘Barty, they’re just kids,’ whispered a witch.

‘Where did it come from?’ Mr Weasley said quickly.

‘Over there,’ said Hermione, pointing. ‘There was someone behind the trees… they shouted words – an incantation.’

‘Oh, stood over there, did they?’ said Mr Crouch, turning his popping eyes on Hermione. ‘Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how the Mark is summoned, missy.’

But none of the other Ministry wizards seemed it remotely likely that any of them had conjured the skull. On the contrary, at Hermione’s words, they had raised their wands and were pointing in the direction she had indicated.

‘We’re too late,’ said the witch. ‘They’ll have Disapparated.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said another wizard, who came forward, revealing himself as Mr Diggory. ‘Our Stunners went right through those trees. There’s a good chance we got them.’

Mr Diggory marched off into the trees and John groaned quietly.

‘Sherlock,’ he mumbled, curling up even further. ‘Make it stop.’

‘Mycroft, get us out of here,’ Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

‘Mr Crouch,’ said Mycroft, turning to him, ‘this boy is very ill, we should let them go.’

‘No one leaves until we find the culprit,’ said Mr Crouch.

‘But-‘

‘I said no one.’

Sherlock pursed his lips. ‘Hold on a little longer, John,’ he whispered. ‘It’ll be over soon.’

‘It hurts.’

‘Cas?’

Cas shook his head. ‘All my potions are in my coat pocket,’ he said in a high-pitched voice. ‘I’m not sure they’d even work on him.’

Sherlock sighed and his head throbbed again. ‘Can we at least get rid of that?’ he asked the gathered wizards, gesturing up at the Mark.

‘No one knows how,’ said the witch. ‘We have to wait until it fades on its own.’

Just then, they heard Mr Diggory shout, ‘We’ve got them! There’s someone here! It’s – but – blimey…’

‘You’ve got someone?’ shouted Mr Crouch, sounding highly disbelieving. ‘Who? Who is it?’

Mr Diggory emerged from the trees carrying a tiny, limp figure in his arms. It was Winky. Mr Diggory lay her at Mr Crouch’s feet and waited with everyone else for his reaction.

For a few seconds, Mr Crouch remained transfixed as he stared down at Winky. ‘This- cannot – be,’ he said. ‘No-‘ He strode off to the place Winky had been found.

‘No point, Mr Crouch,’ Mr Diggory called after him. ‘There’s no one else there.’

But Mr Crouch did not seem prepared to take his word for it.

‘Bit embarrassing,’ Mr Diggory said grimly, looking down at Winky’s unconscious form. ‘Barty Crouch’s house-elf…’

‘Come off it, Amos,’ Mr Weasley said quietly, ‘you don’t seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark’s a wizard’s sign. It requires a wand.’

‘Yeah, and she _had_ a wand.’

‘ _What?’_

 _‘_ Here, look,’ Mr Diggory held up a wand. ‘Had it in her hand. So that’s clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken for a start. _No non-human creature is permitted to carry a wand.’_

Then Ludo Bagman Apparated right next to Mr Weasley, looking breathless and disorientated. He span on the spot, staring up the emerald green skull. ‘The Dark Mark!’ he panted, almost trampling on Winky. ‘Who did it? Did you get them? Barty! What’s going on?’

Mr Crouch had returned empty-handed.

‘Where have you been, Barty?’ said Bagman. ‘Why weren’t you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat, too. Hold on-‘ he had just noticed WInky lying at his feet. ‘What happened to _her?’_

‘I have been busy, Ludo,’ said Mr Crouch. ‘And my yelf has been Stunned’

‘Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why-?’ Comprehension dawned suddenly on his face. ‘ _No!’_ he said. ‘Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn’t know how! She’d need a wand for a start!’

‘She had one,’ said Mr Diggory. ‘I found her holding one, Ludo. Iff it’s all right with you, Mr Crouch, I think we should hear what she’s got to say for herself.’

Sherlock butted in. ‘Now that you know that none of us did this, let us go,’ he demanded.

‘Mr Crouch, I must insist you let these children go,’ said Mycroft. ‘This boy needs attention.’

Mr Crouch stared at them for a moment.

‘Wait, that’s mine!’ Harry called out, as the wand Mr Diggory was holding was bathed in light from the Dark Mark.

‘We’re leaving,’ said Sherlock, hoisting John back to his feet. He caught Castiel’s eye and gestured him over.

This time, Mr Crouch made no move to stop them as Sherlock marched them out of the clearing. It wasn’t until they were about half way out of the woods that they realised Harry, Ron and Hermione had not followed them.

John was beginning to gain some semblance of control over himself and became vaguely aware of his surroundings.

‘Come on, John, you can do this,’ Sherlock said breathlessly, propelling him forwards

‘I should conjure a stretcher,’ said Cas

‘No,’ John mumbled, slurring slightly. ‘People will panic.’ He planted his feet more firmly on the ground and stumbled slowly on, keeping one hand pressed to his forehead and the other holding Sherlock’s arm.

There was a crowd of people and cameras waiting on the edge of the woods. They all yelled all at once, but Sherlock pushed past them without answering any of them.

They finally reached their tents. Cas dashed into his to grab his potions. Bill and Charlie were waiting outside the Weasley’s tent, but Sherlock went past them too into his own tent He lowered John into one of the soft armchairs in the living room.

‘I think it’s stopping,’ John said, voice barely more than a whisper. John sank further into the chair and shakily attempted to wipe away the tears quickly trickling down his cheeks. ‘I never want that to happen again… it was so awful.’

Cas then came into the room clutching several phials of potion. He was followed by the Winchesters and the majority of the Weaslys. He handed a purple potion to Sherlock and John. ‘This should help with the pain,’ he told them, then moved on. Bill was holding a bedsheet to one arm which was bleeding profusely. Charlie had a large rip in his shirt, and Percy was sporting a bloody nose.

‘Sherlock, what’s going?’ said Fred. He, George and Ginny seemed to be unharmed. ‘Who conjured it?’

‘No idea,’ said Sherlock. ‘The others are still in the woods with the Ministry.’

 

John took a small sip of his potion at a time and his had gradually cleared of the screams and pain, though now all he could feel was a bone-deep weariness that made it difficult for him to lift the phial at all.

Cas, meanwhile, was dabbing a different potion on Bill’s arm, which stopped it bleeding.

‘Are you okay?’ Dean said, coming up to him. ‘I’m so sorry we left you behind like that, I was just so focussed on Sam-

It’s fine, Dean, I understand. I was safe with the others.’

‘I’m still sorry. Can I help you with anything?’

Cas gave him a bit of potion and directed him over to Percy.   

They all sat down around the living room and waited. Bill went outside to look out for the others. John struggled to stay awake in his chair, Charlie and Percy were talking quietly in one corner and Fred and George were messing around, trying to cheer Ginny up. Sam, however, was too unsettled to sit still, so he walked around browsing Sherlock’s books instead.

‘Hey, you’re bleeding again,’ Dean said to Cas.

Cas shook his head and held up the empty phial of potion he’d used on Charlie. ‘I’ll live,’ he said.

Finally, Mr Weasley, Harry, Ron and Hermione came into the tent with Bill.

‘Did you get them, Dad?’ said Charlie. ‘The person who conjured the Mark?’

‘No,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘We found Mr Crouch’s elf holding Harry’s wand, but we’re none the wiser about who actually conjured the Mark.’

‘Harry’s wand?’ said Fred.

‘ _Mr Crouch’s elf?’_ said Percy, sounding thunderstruck.

‘Maybe the cloud that was following her did it,’ John mumbled sleepily, one eye half open.

Mr Weasley glanced at Sherlock. ‘What do you mean, John?’ he said gently.

‘I saw a cloud following her around. White and sort of person-sized.’

Sherlock’s eyes widened. ‘Someone under an invisibility cloak?’ he said.

Mr Weasley crouched in front of John. ‘John, can you see under the cloak?’ he said urgently.

John pulled himself up slightly straighter but hesitated. ‘It’ll be harder if I’m not actually looking at Winky.’ He tried to recall what he had seen earlier, but found himself too tired to bring up more than a grey image. He slumped back down in his chair.

‘He’s exhausted, Mr Weasley,’ said Sherlock.

‘That’s all right,’ Mr Weasley said kindly. ‘I’m sure the Ministry will sort it out.’

John nodded, then continued to fight off sleep while everyone else talked.

‘So tell us what happened,’ said Dean.

‘We were right next to whoever conjured it,’ said Hermione. ‘They thought it was us at first, but then they found Winky in the woods.’

‘She had Harry’s wand and she said she’d found it in the woods,’ Mr Weasley continued.

‘Harry dropped it in the stadium, so whoever it was must have picked it up there,’ Sherlock told them.

‘They couldn’t find who it was, and even though Winky didn’t do it, Mr Crouch fired her anyway,’ Hermione frowned.

‘Quite right, too,’ Percy said indignantly. ‘Running away when he’d expressly told her not to, and embarrassing him in front of the whole Ministry. How would that have looked, if she’d been up in front of the Department for the Regulation and Control-‘

‘She didn’t do anything – she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time!’ Hermione snapped at Percy, who looked quite taken aback.

‘Hermione, a wizard in Mr Crouch’s position can’t afford to have a house-elf who’s going to run amok with a wand!’ Percy said pompously.

‘She didn’t run amok! She just picked it up off the ground!’

‘Hey, I got an idea,’ Dean interrupted. ‘Let’s stop arguing about a damn house-elf and talk about what this Dark Mark thing is.’

‘It’s You-Know-Who’s symbol,’ said Hermione before anyone else could answer. ‘I read about it in _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts.’_

‘And it hasn’t been seen for thirteen years,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘Of course people panicked… it was almost like seeing You-Know-Who back again.’

‘Why? What does it mean?’ Dean asked.

‘You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed,’ Mr Weasley explained. ‘The terror it inspired, you have no idea. Just picture coming home, finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house and knowing what you’re about to find inside… Everyone’s worst fear… the very worst…’

There was silence for a moment, then Bill said, ‘Well, it didn’t help us tonight, whoever conjured it. It scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we’d got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Robertses before they hit the ground, though. They’re having their memories modified right now.’

‘What are Death Eaters?’ Harry asked.

‘It’s what You-Know-Who’s supporters called themselves,’ said Bill. ‘I think we saw what’s left of them tonight – the ones that managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban anyway.’

‘We can’t prove it was them, Bill,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘Though it probably was,’ he added hopelessly.

‘Yeah, I bet it was,’ said Ron. ‘We met Draco Malfoy in the woods and he didn’t look worried at all, and we all know the Malfoys were right in with You-Know-Who.’

‘But what were Voldemort’s – sorry – You-Know-Who’s supporters up to, levitating Muggles?’ said Harry. ‘What’s the point?’

‘The point?’ said Mr Weasley, with a hollow laugh. ‘Harry, that’s their idea of fun. Half the Muggle killings back when You-Know-Who was in power were done for fun. I suppose they had a few drinks tonight and couldn’t resist reminding us that lots of them are still at large. A nice little reunion for them,’ he said disgustedly.

‘But if they _were_ Death Eaters, why did they Disapparate when they saw the Dark Mark?’ said Ron. ‘They’d have been pleased to see it, wouldn’t they?’

‘Use your brains, Ron,’ said Bill. ‘If they were really Death Eaters, they worked really hard to keep themselves out of Azkaban when You-Know-Who lost power, and told all sorts of lies about him forcing them to torture and kill people. I bet they’d be even more frightened than the rest of us to see him come back. They denied they’d ever been involved with him and went back to their daily lives… I don’t reckon he’d be over-pleased to see them, do you?’

‘So… whoever conjured the Dark Mark…’ Hermione said slowly, ‘were they doing it to show support for the Death Eaters or scare them away?’

‘Your guess is as good as ours, Hermione,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘But I’ll tell you this, it was Death Eaters that knew how to conjure it – I wouldn’t be surprised if the person who did it had been a Death Eater once, even if they’re not now… Listen, it’s very late, and if your mother hears what happened she’ll be worried sick. We’ll get a few more hours sleep, then we’ll get an early Portkey out of here.’

Sherlock helped John out of his chair. Cas stepped in front of them and handed John one more potion. ‘For nightmares,’ he said, before leaving the tent.

John took it gratefully and everyone else trudged back to their own tents.

‘I’ve never been more tired in my life,’ John said as Sherlock helped him into his bed.

‘One of the many side-effects of your powers.’

‘Yeah.’ John was asleep almost immediately, but Sherlock was loathe to leave him, so he settled down on the end of the bed and watched John sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, welcome back! Thanks to hhhelcat for the comment!
> 
> So sorry about the wait. Between job hunting and some family issues I've been struggling to find the time for this BUT I have a steady job now, so hopefully I'll be able to get back to more regular updates. Thank you all so much for your patience, and I'll see you all next time!


	8. Mayhem at the Ministry

John awoke the next morning to Sherlock shaking his shoulder. He sat up blearily and swayed. He groaned, feeling extremely dizzy and as if he hadn’t slept at all. He didn’t have the energy to get dressed, so he ended up being the only one is his pyjamas with a coat thrown over the top.

Mr Weasley packed all their tents away by magic and they left the campsite, passing a dazed Mr Roberts on the way.

They heard urgent voices as they approached the spot where the Portkeys were, and when they reached it, they found a crowd of witches and wizards gathered around Basil, the keeper of the Portkeys. Mr Weasley had a hurried discussion with him, and they were able to take an old tyre back to Stoatshead Hill before the sun had properly risen. They walked back down the hill to The Burrow, with many breaks for John and taking turns carrying his bag for him, thinking longingly of breakfast. They rounded a corner, and as The Burrow came into view, a cry echoed along the damp lane.

‘Oh, thank goodness, thank goodness!’ Mrs Weasley, who had evidently been waiting for them in the front yard, came running towards them, a screwed up copy of _The Daily Prophet_ clutched in her hand. ‘Arthur – I’ve been so worried – _so worried-‘_ She flung her arms around Mr Weasley’s neck and the paper fell out of her had. As it fell, the headline became visible: SCENES OF TERROR AT THE QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP, complete with a twinkling, black and white photograph of the Dark Mark hanging over the tree-tops.

John felt his legs beginning to give way and Sherlock’s arms wrapped around him once again.

‘Let’s get you inside,’ Sherlock murmured.

They went past Mrs Weasley fiercely hugging Fred and George, into the living room, where John collapsed on the sofa, with Sherlock sat on the edge.

‘You haven’t slept,’ John said to Sherlock as he got comfortable.

‘I don’t need to,’ Sherlock said softly. ‘I’ll be right here while you rest.’

Everyone else came in and crammed into the living room, except Hermione, who went to make Mrs Weasley a strong cup of tea. Mr Weasley insisted on adding a shot of firewhiskey to it. Bill then handed Mr Weasley the newspaper, which he scanned with Percy looking over his shoulder.

‘I knew it,’ Mr Weasley said heavily. ‘ _Ministry blunders… culprits not apprehended... lax security… Dark wizards running unchecked… national disgrace…_ Who wrote this? Ah… of course… Rita Skeeter.’

‘That woman’s got it in for the Ministry!’ said Percy furiously. ‘Last week she was saying we’re wasting our time quibbling about cauldron thickness, when we should be stamping out vampires. As if it wasn’t _specifically_ stated in the paragraph twelve of the _Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans-‘_

‘Do us a favour, Perce,’ yawned Bill, ‘and shut up.’

‘I’m mentioned,’ said Mr Weasley as he reached the bottom of the article.

‘Where?’ spluttered Mrs Weasley. ‘If I’d seen that, I’d have known you were alive!’

‘Not by name,’ said Mr Weasley. ‘Listen to this: “ _If the terrified wizards and witches who waited breathlessly for news at the edge of the woods expected reassurance from the Ministry of Magic, they were sadly disappointed. A Ministry official  emerged sometime after the appearance of the Dark Mark, alleging that nobody had been hurt, yet two boys had been spotted carrying another from the woods only minutes beforehand-‘_

‘Sorry,’ said John.

‘Don’t be daft,’ said Mr Weasley, waving a hand. ‘” _Whether this will be enough to quash the rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods an hour later remains to be seen.’”_ Oh, really. Nobody _was_ hurt, what was I supposed to say? _Rumours that several bodies were removed from the woods…_ Well, there certainly will be rumours now she’s printed that.’ He heaved a great sigh. ‘Molly, I’m going to have to go into the office, this is going to take some smoothing over.’

‘I’ll go with you, Father,’ Percy said importantly. ‘Mr Crouch will need all hands on deck, and I can give him my cauldron report in person.

‘Don’t forget to send me a copy of that,’ Cas said as he left the room.

‘Arthur, you’re supposed to be on holiday!’ Mrs Weasley said. ‘This hasn’t got anything to do with your office, surely they can handle this without you?’

‘I’ve got to go, Molly. I’ve made things worse. I’ll just change my robes and I’ll be off…’

Mr Weasley rushed off. Fred, George and Ginny went to raid the kitchen, and Bill and Charlie went to de-gnome the garden.

‘Mrs Weasley,’ said Harry, ‘Hedwig hasn’t arrived with a letter for me, has she?’

‘Hedwig, dear?’ Mrs Weasley said distractedly. ‘No…no, there hasn’t been any post at all…’ She then went into the kitchen to stop the twins and Ginny eating everything.

‘What’s up?’ Ron asked Harry.

‘There’s something I haven’t told you,’ Harry said. ‘On Sunday morning, I woke up and my scar was hurting again.

Immediately Hermione launched into suggestions of who he should talk to, and Cas went digging through his pockets for something useful. Sherlock sat up straight and Ron went white.

‘What are we missing?’ Dean whispered to Sam

‘No idea,’ Sam whispered back. ‘Some kind of curse scar, maybe?’

‘But – he wasn’t there, was he? You-Know-Who?’ Ron stuttered nervously. ‘I mean – last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn’t he?’

‘Oh, okay, I get it,’ Sam whispered. ‘His scar hurts when he’s close to Voldemort.’

‘Right. Makes sense.’

‘I’m sure he wasn’t in Privet Drive,’ said Harry. ‘But I was dreaming about him… him and Peter – you know, Wormtail. I can’t remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill… someone.’

Suddenly, John propped himself up on his elbow to listen.

‘It was only a dream,’ said Ron bracingly. ‘Just a nightmare.’

‘Maybe not,’ said John. ‘You said Voldemort was here-‘

‘Don’t – say – his – name-‘ Ron hissed.

‘Sorry. You-Know-Who was there, and Wormtail. Was anyone else there, like an old man?’

‘There was, actually. I think his name was Frank.’

John grimaced. ‘I saw that too. Unfortunately quite real.’ John caught Harry’s eye and he looked away. He clearly knew exactly who Voldemort wanted to kill, but he had decided against making the others panic.

‘Why were you asking if Hedwig had come?’ Hermione asked after a moment’s silence. ‘Are you expecting a letter?’

‘I told Sirius about my scar hurting,’ said Harry. ‘I’m waiting for an answer.’

‘Good thinking,’ said Ron. ‘I bet Sirius’ll know what to do.’

‘I hoped he’d get back tome quickly.’

‘But we don’t know where Sirius is. He could be hiding somewhere in Africa or somewhere, couldn’t he?’ Hermione said reasonably. ‘Hedwig’s not going to manage that journey in a few days.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

Just then, there was a knock on the front door.

‘I wonder who that could be,’ said Mrs Weasley as she came out of the kitchen. She opened the front door and they heard a familiar voice.

‘Are you Mrs Weasley?’

‘I am. How can I help you?’

‘I’m looking for my brother Castiel. A house-elf told me he might be here.’

‘Oh, yes, he is. Come in, dear.’

‘I’m Gabriel, by the way.’

Gabriel came in, went straight over to Castiel and pulled him into a hug. ‘You just love making me worry, don’t you? Are you okay?’ He pulled away and looked him over.

‘I’m fine, Gabriel.’

‘He’s got a cut or something on his back that keeps bleeding,’ Dean butted in.

‘Dean-‘

‘What?’ Gabriel turned him around to look at it.

‘I’m fine, really. It doesn’t hurt.’

’We’ll fix it when we get home.’ He looked up as Fred and George came in, grinning. ‘How’s everyone doing? I heard what happened at the match.’

‘We’re all fine, no one got hurt,’ said Fred.

‘Hey, Mum, did you know Gabriel’s the new Head Boy?’ George said.

‘Is he really?’

‘I sure am,’ Gabriel smiled.

‘Well then, I’m sure I can count on you to keep these two focused on their N.E.W.Ts rather than this ridiculous joke shop?’

Gabriel hesitated, looking between the twins and Mrs Weasley. ‘Mrs Weasley, your boys really do have incredible minds, which I’m sure you’ll agree.’

Mrs Weasley nodded.

‘The thing about incredible minds is that they’re not always conventional,’ he continued. ‘Take Sherlock over here. No one would argue that he’s not brilliant, especially not himself, but would anyone call him anything close to conventional? Just something to consider.’

Mrs Weasley pursed her lips.

‘Don’t worry, Ma’am, I won’t let them do anything too dangerous,’ he said to appease her, flashing a charming smile. ‘You two have looked better,’ he added, catching sight of John and Sherlock’s exhausted faces.

‘I dunno, we probably look better than that time you found us out in the hall back in first year,’ John chuckled.

‘Oh yeah, and my sister put Sherlock in the Full-Body Bind. Good times.’

‘She did what?’ said Cas.

‘Not important,’ said Gabriel. ‘Just Lucy being Lucy.’

‘Oh, Gabe,’ Dean said suddenly. ‘This is my brother Sam. He starts Hogwarts this year.’

‘Nice to meet you, Sam. If you ever need anything, you can always ask me.’

‘Thanks,’ said Sam.

Gabriel flung an arm around Cas’s shoulders. ‘Okay, kiddo, you ready to go?’

Cas nodded stiffly and picked up his bag and coat. He said goodbye and left.

‘See you guys at school,’ said Gabriel, following him out.

John had expended too much energy talking to Harry and Gabriel, so quickly fell asleep. Mrs Weasley passed Sherlock and pillow and a blanket, which he carefully arranged so John would be comfortable.

‘He’s very tired,’ Sherlock said. ‘Mrs Weasley, would it be all right to stay until he’s recovered?’

‘Of course, dear,’ Mrs Weasley smiled.

Afterwards, the Weasley children, Harry and Hermione went outside to play Quidditch. Sam and Dean stayed inside, more than happy to help Mrs Weasley clean and cook lunch. Sherlock did not leave John’s side occasionally waking him to eat and drink.

It wasn’t until the next morning that John felt well enough to walk across the village, and only after he’d eaten a large bowl of porridge.

‘Thanks for your help, Mrs Weasley,’ said John as he, Sherlock, Sam and Dean gathered up their things.

‘It’s not trouble,’ she smiled.

Together they walked back to Sherlock’s house, where they found Melly waiting. This time, Sam did not object to her taking his things and went off to explore the house.

‘Oh my God,’ said John, only just noticing the deep purple shadows around Sherlock’s eyes. ‘Have you slept at all?’

‘I told you, I don’t need to.’

‘You might have needed me.’

John smiled at him. ‘That’s very nice of you, but you can’t not sleep.’

‘But what if-‘

‘Sherlock, I’m going to be having these visions for the rest of my life. You have to sleep sometime, now go to bed.’

‘I-‘

‘I said go!’

Sherlock didn’t offer any further protest, and finally allowed himself to rest.

The rest of the week was quiet. They eventually received a note from Dumbledore that only said he wane to see them in person, and they were back at The Burrow for the last night of the holidays.

Mr Weasley was late for dinner, as it appeared he had been all week, and was still looking exhausted.

‘Well, the fat’s really in the fire now,’ he told Mrs Weasley, as he sat in the armchair by the fire. ‘Rita Skeeter’s been ferreting around all week, looking for more Ministry mess-ups to report. And now she’s found out about poor old Bertha, so that’ll be the headline in the _Prophet_ tomorrow.’

John was caught by surprise at her name, and dropped his cup of tea as her screams again echoed around his head. He muttered angrily under his breath and waited for it to pass. Fortunately it didn’t last as long this time. When he came out of it, Mrs Weasley had already cleaned up his tea, and Hermione and Percy were having a heated argument.

‘Now, look here, Hermione!’ said Percy. ‘A high-ranking Ministry official like Mr Crouch deserves unswerving obedience from his servants-‘

‘His _slave,_ you mean!’ Hermione said shrilly. ‘Because he didn’t _pay_ Winky, did he?’

‘I think you’d all better check you’ve packed everything and get ready for bed!’ said Mrs Weasley, breaking up the argument. ‘Come on, now, all of you…’

Sam positively bounded up the stairs, followed by a grinning Dean. John and Sherlock were left downstairs with Mrs Weasley, while she set up a camp bed in the living room. She left them plenty of blankets and bid them goodnight, putting out the lights.

Sherlock took the camp bed and John the sofa. The only light left to see by was a single stream of moonlight.

A familiar, but uncomfortable fluttering in John’s stomach made him squirm and chew his lip. He looked down at Sherlock, acutely aware of how well his hair framed his face, and took a deep breath. ‘Sherlock?’ he murmured.

‘Yes?’

‘I-I- ‘ But he lost his nerve. ‘Nothing. Never mind.’ He turned over, so he was facing the back of the sofa, to both avoid looking at Sherlock and to cover up his burning cheeks. Sherlock didn’t question him any further, and he forced himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone. Thanks too rainingcatz, hhhelcat and Tweagle for the comments.   
> See you again soon.


	9. Aboard the Hogwarts Express

Aboard the Hogwarts Express

John and Sherlock were the first to wake in the morning, and were already dressed when Mrs Weasley came downstairs. Sam and Dean came with her, again eager to help her cook.

John was just making sure Dolly was secure in her tank, when a soft _pop_ and a voice made him jump.

‘Is Arthur there?’ it asked.

John turned around and looked down at the fireplace, where a head and nothing else was sitting. John blinked a few times. ‘Mr Diggory?’ he said, perplexed

‘Yes, yes, please get Arthur, it’s rather urgent.’

‘I’ll get him,’ said Mrs Weasley, coming out of the kitchen. ‘Arthur!’ she called up the staircase. ‘Arthur! Amos needs to speak to you, he says it’s urgent!’

Mr Weasley came clattering into the living room, his robes on backwards. ‘What’s wrong, Amos?’ he said.

Mr Diggory sighed. ‘It’s Mad-Eye again, Arthur.’

‘What’s he done this time?’

‘Apparently he thought someone was trying to break into his house-‘

‘Hang on, I suppose I’d better write this down. Molly, can you-?’

‘Of course.’ Mrs Weasley began rifling through a drawer in one of the cabinets.

‘Some Muggle heard bangs and shouting,’ Mr Diggory continued, ‘so they went and called those what-d’you-call-‘ems – please-men. Arthur, you’ve got to get over there-‘

‘Here!’ Mrs Weasley said breathlessly, pushing a piece of paper, a bottle of ink and a crumpled quill into Mr Weasley’s hands.

‘It’s a real stroke of luck I heard about it,’ said Mr Diggory’s head. ‘I had to come into the office early to send a couple of owls, and I found the Improper Use of Magic lot all setting off – if Rita Skeeter gets hold of this one, Arthur-‘

‘What does Mad-Eye say happened?’ asked Mr Weasley, unscrewing the ink bottle, loading up hs quill and preparing to take notes.

Mr Diggory rolled his eyes. ‘Says he heard an intruder in his yard. Says they were creeping towards his house, but they were ambushed by his dustbins.’

‘What did the dustbins do?’ asked Mr Weasley, scribbling frantically.

‘Made one hell of a racket, firing rubbish everywhere, as far as I can tell,’ said Mr Diggory. ‘Apparently one of them was still rocketing around when the please-men turned up.’

Mr Weasley groaned. ‘And what about the intruder?’

‘Arthur, you know Mad-Eye Someone creeping into his yard in the dead of night? More likely there’s a very shellshocked cat wandering around somewhere, covered in potato peelings. But if the Improper Use of Magic lot get their hands on Mad-Eye, he’s had it – think of his record – we’ve got to get him off on a minor charge, something in your department – what are exploding dustbins worth?’

‘Might be a caution. Mad-Eye didn’t use his wand? He didn’t actually attack anyone?’

‘I’ll bet he leapt out of bed and started jinxing everything he could reach through the window,’ said Mr Diggory, ‘but they’ll have a job proving it, there aren’t any casualties.’

‘All right,’ said Mr Weasley, stuffing his parchment in his pocket and dashing out of the kitchen.

Mr Diggory looked around at Mrs Weasley. ‘Sorry about this, Molly,’ he said, more calmly, ‘bothering you so early and everything… but Arthur’s the only one who can get Mad-Eye off, and he’s supposed to be starting his new job today. Why he had to choose last night…’

‘Never mind, Amos,’ said Mrs Weasley. ‘Sure you won’t have a bit of toast before you go?’

‘Oh, go on then.’

Mrs Weasley took a piece of buttered toast from a stack in the kitchen, put it into the fire tongs and transferred it into Mr Diggory’s mouth.

‘Fanks,’ he said in a muffled voice, then vanished with a small _pop._

Mr Weasley then came back in with his robes on the right way round and dragging a comb through his hair. ‘Have a good term, everyone,’ he said, throwing a cloak over his shoulders. ‘Molly, are you going to be all right getting everyone to King’s Cross?’

‘Of course I will,’ she said. ‘You just look after Mad-Eye.’

Mr Weasley then Disapparated.

‘Did someone say Mad-Eye?’ said Bill, entering the living room. ‘What’s he been up to now?’

‘He says someone tried to break into his house last night,’ said Mrs Weasley.

‘Mad-Eye Moody?’ George said thoughtfully. ‘Isn’t he that nutter-?’

‘Your father thinks very highly of Mad-Eye Moody,’ Mrs Weasley said sternly.

‘Yeah, well, Dad collects plugs, doesn’t he?’ Fred said quietly, as she left the room ‘Birds of a feather…’

‘Moody was a great wizard in his time,’ said Bill.

‘He’s an old friend of Dumbledore’s, isn’t he?’ said Charlie.

‘Dumbledore’s not exactly what you’d call _normal,_ though, is he?’ said Fred. ‘I mean, I know he’s a genius and everything…’

‘Who is Mad-Eye?’ asked Harry.

‘He’s retired, used to work at the Ministry,’ said Charlie. ‘I met him once when Dad took me into work with him. He was an Auror – one of the best… a Dark-wizard-catcher,’ he added at Harry and John’s blank looks. ‘Half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him. He made himself loads of enemies, though… The families of the people he caught, mainly… and I heard he’s getting really paranoid in his old age. Doesn’t trust anyone anymore. Sees Dark Wizards everywhere.’

Bill and Charlie decided to come and see everyone off at King’s Cross station, but Percy, apologising profusely, said that he needed to get to work.

‘I just can’t justify taking more time off at the moment,’ he told them. ‘Mr Crouch s really starting to rely on me.’

‘Yeah, you know what, Percy?’ said George seriously. ‘I reckon he’ll know your name soon.’

Percy turned red and stormed off.

Mycroft had ordered them several Ministry cars for their journey, but they were not prepared for the over-excited Pigwidgeon, fireworks exploding out of Fred’s trunk, or Crookshanks clawing up one of the drivers’ legs. Thankfully, Dolly was quite content to sit in her tank, warbling quietly, so they didn’t have to deal with an escaped toad on top of everything else.

All in all, they were relieved to arrive at King’s Cross. Most of them were used to getting on to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, however Sam insisted on watching someone do it first, before he would believe that running directly at the ticket barrier was really the way to do it.

Castiel was already on the train, in his robes and saving them a compartment. They dumped their luggage and hopped back down onto the platform to say goodbye.

’I might be seeing you all sooner than you think,’ said Charlie, grinning as he hugged Ginny goodbye.

‘Why?’ said Fred keenly.

‘You’ll see,’ said Charlie. ‘Just don’t tell Percy I mentioned it. It’s “classified information until such time as the Ministry sees it to release it” after all.’

‘Yeah, I sort of wish I was back at Hogwarts this year,’ said Bill, looking wistfully at the train.

‘ _Why?’_ said George impatiently.

‘You’re going to have an interesting year,’ said Bill. ‘I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it…’

‘A bit of _what?’_ said Ron.

But at that moment, the whistle blew and Mrs Weasley chivvied them towards the train doors.

‘Thanks for having us, Mrs Weasley,’ Dean said as they climbed on board, closed the door and leant out of the window to talk to her.

‘Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs Weasley,’ said Harry.

‘Oh, it was my pleasure, dears,’ said Mrs Weasley. ‘I’d invite you over for Christmas, but… well, I expect you’ll want to stay at Hogwarts, what with… one thing or another.’

‘Mum!’ Ron said irritably. ‘What d’you three know that we don’t?’  

‘You’ll find out this evening, I expect,’ Mrs Weasley smiled. ‘It’s going to be very exciting. Mind you, I’m glad they’ve changed the rules.’

‘What rules?’ said Fred and George.

‘I’m sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you… now, behave, won’t you? _Won’t_ you, Fred? And you, George?’

The pistons hissed loudly, and the train began to move.

‘Tell us what’s happening at Hogwarts!’ Fred bellowed out of the window, as Mrs Weasley, Bill and Charlie sped away from them. ‘What rules are they changing?’

But Mrs Weasley only smiled and waved. Before the train rounded the corner, the three of them had Disapparated.

Fred and George went to find their own compartment, and Dean sent Sam off to find some other first-years to make friends with.

‘Trust me, you’ll thank me later,’ he said.

Then the rest of them went back to their compartment. Once they were all sat down, Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, and flung them over Pigwidgeon’s cage to muffle his hooting.

‘Bagman wanted to tell us what’s happening at Hogwarts,’ Ron said grumpily. ‘At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won’t say… John, you don’t think you could...?’

‘Actually, I don’t think I will,’ said John. ‘I don’t get many surprises, and I’d rather discuss it at the same time as everyone else, like a normal person.’

‘Fair enough,’ Ron shrugged. ‘Wonder what-‘

‘Shh!’ Hermione whispered suddenly, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing towards the compartment next to theirs.

They heard a familiar drawling voice drifting through the open door.

‘…Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the Headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore – the man’s such a Mudblood-lover, and Durmstrang doesn’t admit that sort of riff-raff. But Mother didn’t like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually _learn_ them, not just the defence rubbish we do…’

Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy’s voice. ‘So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?’ she said angrily. ‘I wish he _had_ gone, then we wouldn’t have to deal with him.’

‘Durmstrang’s another wizarding school?’ said Harry.

‘Yes,’ Hermione said sniffily, ‘and it’s got a horrible reputation. According to _An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe,_ it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts.’

‘You know, it never really occurred to me that there might be other schools,’ John mused. ‘Well, until Sherlock told me about Ilvermorny.’

‘Ah, Ilvermorny,’ Dean sighed. ‘It’s beautiful there. I was supposed to go, but my dad thought I would be safer here with Dumbledore.’

‘He’s not wrong,’ said Ron.

‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that. It’s not like Ilvermorny has Voldemort or one of his followers on campus every year,’ Dean said, only half joking.

‘Yeah, well,’ Ron said uncomfortably, ‘you’re here now.’

‘Yeah, I guess I am.’

‘Where is Durmstrang?’ Ron asked, hastily changing the subject. ‘I think I’ve heard of it.’

‘Well, no one knows, do they?’ said Hermione, raising her eyebrows.

‘Er, why not?’ said Harry.

‘There’s traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets,’ Hermione told them.

‘Come off it,’ said Ron, starting to laugh. ‘Durmstrang’s got to be about the same size as Hogwarts, how are you going to hide a dirty great castle?’

‘But Hogwarts _is_ hidden,’ Hermione said in surprise, ‘everyone knows that… well, everyone who’s read _Hogwarts: A History,_ anyway.’

‘Just you, then,’ said Ron. ‘Go on, then, how d’you hide a place like Hogwarts?’

‘It’s bewitched. If a Muggle looks at it, all they see is an old ruin with  sign over the entrance saying DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE.’

‘So Durmstrang’ll look like a ruin to an outsider, then?’

‘Maybe,’ Hermione shrugged, ‘or it’ll have a Muggle-Repelling Charm on it, like the World Cup Stadium. And to keep foreign wizards from finding it, they’ll have made it Unplottable-‘

‘Come again?’

‘Well, you can enchant a building so it’s impossible to plot on a map, can’t you?’

‘If you say so,’ said Harry.

‘But I think Durmstrang must be somewhere in the far north,’ Hermione said thoughtfully. ‘Somewhere very cold, because they’ve got fur capes as part of their uniforms.’

‘Ah the possibilities,’ Ron said dreamily. ‘It would’ve been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident… shame his mother likes him…’

‘I couldn’t find much about Beauxbatons, though,’ said Hermione. ‘Only that it’s in France somewhere.’

‘My grandmother went to Beauxbatons,’ Cas told them. ‘She used to say that the Palace of Beauxbatons was the most magical and beautiful place in the world. I hope to visit someday.’

Dean squinted at him. Something about his voice was different, as though he had suddenly developed a mild lisp.

‘What?’ said Cas.

‘What the – Cas, are you missing a tooth?’ said Dean.

‘It’s nothing,’ Cas said hastily, and indeed, one of his front teeth was missing.

‘What the hell happened?’

‘I was hiking with Gabriel and I fell. There are a lot of rocks on the trail.’

‘That’s crap!’ Dean said. ‘Who did this?’

‘No one did it,’ said Cas, prickling. ‘I fell.’

‘But-‘

‘It is not of import. Madam Pomfrey will fix it.’ Cas ended the conversation by picking up the book he had been reading on advanced human anatomy and hiding his face behind it.

Dean looked around at everyone else incredulously, most of whom just shrugged.

Cas didn’t speak again until the lunch trolley arrived, when he ordered a cup of pumpkin juice and nothing else.

They were visited by Seamus, Dean Thomas and Neville. Seamus was still wearing his Ireland Rosette from the World Cup and they all launched into talk of the match, though Hermione grew tired of the conversation after a while, and stopped to read her _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4._

‘Is that a toad?’ Neville asked, wide-eyed as he spotted Dolly.

‘Yeah, she is,’ said John. ‘Her name’s Dolly. Where’s Trevor?’

‘He’s in our compartment still. He seems to like the new basket I got him. At least, I think he does. He hasn’t escaped from it yet. Is she yours, John? I didn’t think anyone liked toads.’

‘It’s not like you had much of a choice,’ Sherlock muttered.

John rolled his eyes. ‘No need for that, Sherlock,’ he chastised. ‘If I’d wanted to say no, I could have. I met her when she jumped onto my shoulder and didn’t want to leave.’

‘Wow,’ said Neville. ‘Maybe you could give me some tips.’

‘I’m not sure there’s much I could tell you. She does what she pleases, really.’

‘You should have seen Krum,’ Ron interrupted. ‘He was absolutely amazing, and we got to see him right up close, as well. We were in the Top Box-‘

‘For the first and last time in your life, Weasley.’ Draco Malfoy had appeared in the doorway, accompanied by Crabbe and Goyle. Evidently the conversation through the compartment door, which Seamus had left ajar.

‘Don’t remember asking you to join us, Malfoy,’ Harry said coolly.

‘Weasley… what is _that?’_ said Malfoy, pointing at Pigwidgeon’s cage. A sleeve of Ron’s dress robes was dangling from it, swaying with the motion of the train. The mouldy lace cuff very obvious.

Ron made to stuff the robes out of sight, but Malfoy was too quick for him; he seized the sleeve and pulled.

‘Look at this!’ Malfoy said in ecstasy, holding up Ron’s robes and showing Crabbe and Goyle. ‘Weasley, you weren’t thinking of _wearing_ these, were you? I mean- they were very fashionable in about 1890…’

‘Eat dung, Malfoy,’ said Ron, going the same colour as his dress robes, as he snatched them back from Malfoy.

Malfoy howled with derisive laughter. ‘So… going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There’s money involved as well, you know… you’d be able to afford some decent dress robes if you won…’

‘What are you talking about?‘ Ron snapped.

‘ _Are you going to enter?’_ Malfoy repeated. ‘I suppose _you_ will, Potter? You never miss out on a chance to show off, do you?’

‘Either explain what you’re on about or go away, Malfoy,’ Hermione said testily over her book.

A gleeful smile spread across Malfoy’s pale face. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t _know?’_ he said delightedly. ‘You’ve got a father and brother in the Ministry and you don’t even _know?_ My God, _my_ father told me about it ages ago… He heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father’s always associated with the top people at the Ministry-‘ He was cut off by a glowing that caught his eye.

Castiel’s wand was on the seat next to him, his hand resting over it, and it was glowing. Castiel’s eyes flashed over the top of his book at Malfoy, who gulped nervously.

‘Get out.’ Cas said calmly.

Malfoy shot him a resentful look, then left with Crabbe and Goyle.

Ron got to his feet and slammed the sliding compartment door so hard behind them that the glass shattered.

‘ _Ron!’_ Hermione said reproachfully. She pulled out her wand, muttered ‘ _Reparo!’_ , and the glass shards flew back into a single pane, and back in the door.

‘Well… making it look like he knows everything,’ Ron snarled. ‘Dad could get a promotion any time he wants… he just likes it where he is…’

 ‘Of course he does’ Hermione said quietly. ‘Don’t let Malfoy get to you, Ron-‘

‘Him! Get to me! As if!’ said Ron, picking up a Cauldron Cake and squashing it to a pulp.

Dean leaned closer to Cas, slightly awed. ‘How did you do that?’

‘Do what?’ Cas asked, looking up.

‘Get rid of Malfoy like that.’

Cas shrugged.

‘Well, it was awesome,’ Dean grinned. He had never seen Castiel look quite so imposing before. _Threatening_ even. He then picked up Ron’s robes. ‘You know, I could fix these up, if you wanted.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Sure.’

‘Go for it.’

Dean pulled out his own wand and stuck his tongue out, with Cas peeking at him over his book. Dean began muttering and he cut off all the lace first, then made a long line of thread spool out of his wand to sew up all the frayed ends. He shrunk the large, pointy collar, and shiny ostentatious buttons. ‘Okay, I think I might be able to change the color, but there’s not much I can do about the fabric. What d’you think?’

Ron looked at him in surprise, the robes already looking a thousand times better than they had only moments ago. ‘Er- I reckon you should change the colour,’ he said.

‘Yeah, you’re right. If I make ‘em darker, they’ll clash with your hair less.’ Dean pointed his wand at the robes again, and they flashed all the colours of the rainbow before finally settling on a deep, chocolate brown. ‘There, all done,’ Dean said proudly, handing them over to Ron.

Ron stood and held them up to himself. They were barely recognisable and Ron grinned at Dean. ‘Thanks!’

‘No problem, buddy.’

A few hours later, after everyone had changed into their uniforms, they arrived at Hogsmeade station in pitch-darkness.

As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead. Hermione bundled Crookshanks in her cloak, and they left the train, heads bent and eyes narrowed against the downpour. The rain was coming thick and so fast it felt as though buckets of ice-cold water were being emptied repeatedly over their heads.

‘Hi, Hagrid!’ Harry yelled, seeing a gigantic silhouette at the end of the platform.

‘All righ’, Harry?’ Hagrid bellowed back, waving. ‘See yeh at the feast, if we don’ drown!’

‘I wouldn’t fancy crossing the lake in this weather,’ said Hermione as they inched slowly along the dark platform.

Harry, Ron and Neville climbed into one of the carriages that were waiting for them. Dean, Cas, John and Sherlock got into another. The door snapped shut, and a few moments later, the carriages were rumbling and splashing up the track towards Hogwarts castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to hhhelcat and eivomlive or the comments.  
> I hope everyone's having a good holiday, and I'll see you next time!


	10. The Triwizard Tournament

The Triwizard Tournament

Lightning flashed across the sky as the carriages came to a halt before the great oak doors. People who had arrived before them were already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. John, Sherlock, Cas and Dean jumped out of the carriage and dashed up the steps too, looking up only when they were safely inside the torch-lit Entrance Hall.

‘Hey!’ John objected, as Sherlock shook the water out of his hair and it hit John in the face.

‘Sorry.’

‘I’m already soak-‘ He gasped as a large red water balloon dropped from the ceiling onto his head and exploded. Drenched and spluttering, John staggered sideways into Sherlock, lurching himout of the way of a second water balloon.

Sherlock bit his lip, but couldn’t fully contain his snigger at John with his hair plastered to his face.

‘Oh, very funny,’ John grumbled.

Everyone around them began shoving each other to get out of the line of fire. Above the, Peeves the poltergeist took aim, his wide face contorted in concentration.

‘PEEVES!’ yelled an angry voice. ‘Peeves, come down here at ONCE!’

Professor McGonagall had come dashing out of the Great Hall

‘Not doing nothing!’ Peeves cackled, throwing another balloon at some fifth-year girls. ‘Already wet, aren’t they? Little squirts!’ He aimed another balloon at some second-years who had just arrived.

‘I shall call the Headmaster!’ shouted Professor McGonagall. ‘I’m warning you, Peeves-‘

Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the rest of the balloons into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase.

‘Well, move along, then!’ Professor McGonagall said sharply. ‘Into the Great Hall, come on!’

They all slipped and slid across the Entrance Hall and through the double doors.

The Great Hall was its usual splendid self, with golden plates and goblets set out along the four house tables and the staff table, and hundreds of floating candles lit the room.

This was one of the few occasions of the year that everyone was required to sit at their house tables, so they left Sherlock and Castiel at the Ravenclaw table, then carried on to the Gryffindor table.

‘Good evening,’ said Nearly-Headless Nick as they sat down around him.

‘Says who?’ Harry said grumpily, taking off his shoes and emptying them of water. ‘Hope they hurry up with the Sorting, I’m starving.’

Just then, a highly excited, breathless voice called down the table, ‘Hiya, Harry!’ It was Colin Creevey.

‘Hi, Colin,’ Harry said wearily.

‘Harry, guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother’s starting! My brother Dennis!’

‘Er – good’ said Harry.

‘He’s really excited!’ said Colin, bouncing up and down in his seat. ‘I just hope he’s in Gryffindor! Brothers and sisters usually go in the same house right?’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Hermione. ‘Look at Castiel. None of his siblings have been in the same house. And Parvati Patil’s twin is in Ravenclaw.’

‘Wow,’ said Colin. ‘Fingers crossed then, eh, Harry?’

‘Er – yeah, all right.’

‘Where’s the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?’ said John, looking up at the staff table.

‘Maybe they couldn’t get anyone,’ Hermione said anxiously.

John caught Sherlock’s eye at the Ravenclaw table, who shrugged.

‘Oh, hurry up,’ Ron groaned. ‘I could eat a Hippogriff.’

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened again, and silence fell. Professor McGonagall lead a long line of first-years up to the top of the hall, so wet they appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed it. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school- all of them but the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousey hair, who was wrapped in Hagrid’s moleskin overcoat. His small face protruded from over the collar, looking painfully excited. When he had lined up with his terrified-looking peers, he caught Colin Creevey’s eye, gave a double thumbs up and mouthed, ‘I fell in the lake!’ He looked positively delighted about it.

Professor McGonagall then placed a three-legged stool on the ground and the Sorting Hat on top of it. For a moment, there was silence. Then a tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the Sorting Hat broke into song.

‘ _A thousand years or more ago,_

_When I was newly sewn,_

_There lived four wizards of renown_

_Whose names are still well known:_

_Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor_

_Fair Ravenclaw, from glen._

_Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,_

_Shrewd Slytherin, from fen._

_They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,_

_They hatched a daring plan_

_To educate young sorcerers_

_Thus Hogwarts School began._

_Now each of these four founders_

_Formed their own house, for each_

_Did value different virtues_

_In the ones they had to teach_

_By Gryffindor, the bravest were_

_Prized far beyond the rest;_

_For Ravenclaw, the cleverest_

_Would always be the best;_

_For Hufflepuff, hard workers were_

_Most worthy of admission;_

_And power-hungry Slytherin_

_Loved those of great ambition._

_While still alive they did divide_

_Their favourites from the throng._

_Yet how to pick the worthy ones_

_When they were dead and gone?_

_‘Twas Gryffindor who found the way_

_He whipped me off his head_

_The founders put some brains in me_

_So I could choose instead!_

_Now slip me snug about your ears,_

_I’ve never yet been wrong._

_I’ll have a look inside your mind_

_And tell you where you belong!’_

The Great Hall rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished.

‘That’s not the song it sang when it sorted us,’ said Harry, clapping along with everyone else.

‘It sings a different one every year,’ John told him, remembering that Harry had missed the last two Sorting Ceremonies.

‘It’s got to be a pretty boring life, hasn’t it, being a hat?’ said Ron. ‘I suppose it spends all year making up the next one.’

Professor McGonagall then unrolled a large roll of parchment. ‘When I call out your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool,’ she told the first-years. ‘When the Hat announces your house, you will go and sit at the appropriate table.

‘Ackerly, Stewart!’

A boy walked forward, visibly trembling from head to foot, picked up the Sorting Hat, put it on and sat on the stool.

‘ _Ravenclaw!’_ shouted the Hat.

Stewart Ackerly took off the Hat and hurried into a seat at the Ravenclaw table, where everyone was applauding him. John caught a glimpse of Sherlock clapping lazily and fleetingly felt the urge to join the Ravenclaw table too.

‘Baddock, Malcolm!’

’ _Slytherin!’_

 _‘_ Branston, Eleanor!’

‘ _Hufflepuff!’_

‘Cauldwell, Owen!’

‘ _Hufflepuff!’_

 _‘_ Creevey, Dennis!’

Tiny Dennis Creevey staggered forward, tripping over Hagrid’s moleskin, just as Hagrid himself sidled into the Hall through a door behind the teachers’ table. He winked at them as he sat down, and watched Dennis Creevey putting the Sorting Hat on. The rip at the brim opened wide-

‘ _Gryffindor!’_ the Hat shouted.

Hagrid clapped along with the Gryffindors, as Dennis Creevey, beaming widely, took off the Hat, placed it back on the school, and hurried over to his brother.

‘Colin, I fell in!’ he said shrilly, throwing himself into the empty seat. ‘It was brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!’

‘Cool!’ said Colin, equally as excited. ‘It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!’

‘ _Wow!’_ said Dennis, as though nobody in their wildest dreams could hope for more than being thrown into a storm-tossed, fathoms-deep lake, and pushed out of it by a giant sea-monster.

The Sorting continued; boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces moving, one by one, to the three-legged stool. The line dwindled slowly as Professor McGonagall passed the ‘L’s.

‘Oh, hurry up,’ Ron groaned, massaging his stomach.

‘Now, Ron, the Sorting’s much more important than food,’ said Nearly-Headless Nick.

‘’Course it is, if you’re dead,’ Ron snapped

‘I do hope this year’s batch of Gryffindors are up to scratch,’ Nick said, applauding as ‘McDonald, Natalie!’ joined the Gryffindor table. ‘We don’t want to break our winning streak, do we?’

‘Pritchard, Graham!’

‘ _Slytherin!’_

‘Quirke, Orla!’

‘ _Ravenclaw!’_

 _‘_ Whitby, Kevin!’

‘ _Hufflepuff!’_

At last, Sam was the only one left.

‘Winchester, Samuel!’

‘Woo! Sam!’ Dean cheered, to many sniggers around him.

‘Thank you, Mr Winchester,’ Professor McGonagall said warningly.

Sam put on the Hat and sat on the stool. There was a moment delay, then-

‘ _Hufflepuff!’_

The Hufflepuff table cheered, as did Dean, and Sam sat down next to Gabriel, grinning widely.

‘About time,’ said Ron, seizing his knife and fork, and looking down at his plate expectantly.

Professor Dumbledore got to his feet, arms open wide in welcome. ‘I have only two words to say to you,’ he told them. ‘ _Tuck in.’_

Then all the empty dishes filled magically before their eyes.

Nearly-Headless Nick watched mournfully as they loaded their plates.

‘Aaah, ‘at’s be’er,’ said Ron, with his mouth full of mashed potatoes.

‘You’re lucky there’s a feast at all tonight, you know,’ Nick told them. ‘There was trouble in the kitchens earlier.’

‘Why? Wha’ ‘appened?’ Harry asked, through a sizeable chunk of steak.

‘Peeves, of course,’ said Nick, shaking his head, which wobbled dangerously. ‘The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast – well, it’s quite out of the question. You know what he’s like, utterly uncivilised. Can’t see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghost’s council – the Fat Friar was all for giving him a chance – but, most wisely in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down.’

‘Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed a bit hacked off about something,’ said Ron. ‘So what did he do in the kitchens?’

‘Oh, the usual,’ Nick shrugged. ‘Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits-‘

 _Clang._ Hermione had knocked over her goblet and pumpkin juice spread steadily over the tablecloth, but Hermione paid no attention. ‘There are house-elves _here?’_ she said, horror-struck. ‘Here at _Hogwarts?’_

‘Certainly,’ said Nick, surprised at her reaction. ‘The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred.’

‘I’ve never seen one!’

‘Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?’ said Nick. ‘They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning, see to the fire and so on. I mean, you’re not supposed to see them, are you? That’s the mark of a good house-elf, isn’t it, that you don’t know it’s there?’

Hermione stared at him. ‘But they get _paid?’_ she said. ‘They get _holidays_ , don’t they? And-and sick leave, and pensions, and everything?’

Nearly-Headless Nick chortled so much that his ruff slipped and his head flopped off, dangling by the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still attached it to his neck. ‘Sick leave and pensions?’ he said, pushing his head back onto his shoulders. ‘House-elves don’t want sick leaves and pensions!’

Hermione looked down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put down her knife and fork and pushed it away.

‘Oh, c’mon, ‘Er-my-knee,’ said Ron, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of Yorkshire pudding. ‘Oops – sorry, ‘Arry-‘ He swallowed. ‘You won’t get them sick leave by starving yourself.’

‘Slave labour,’ said Hermione. ‘That’s what made this dinner. _Slave labour.’_ And she refused to eat another bite.

John momentarily felt conflicted about his own food, but the smell of roast chicken was too much for him to resist.

The storm continued to rage outside and the remains of the first course were replaced with dessert. Ron wafted the scent towards Hermione to try and tempt her, but to no avail. Dean wasted no time digging into a hearty apple pie.

When the desserts, too, had been demolished, Dumbledore got to his feet. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost immediately.

‘So!’ said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. ‘Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.

‘Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects now forbidden in the castle, has this year been expanded to include Screaming Yo-Yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises of some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr Filch’s office, if anyone would like to check it.’ The corners of his mouth twitched, then he continued. ‘As ever, I would like to remind you all that the Forest in the grounds is out of bounds to all students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third-year.’

John fidgeted guiltily, though he was sure that Dumbledore wouldn’t truly mind his own ventures into the Forest.

‘It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.’

‘What?’ Harry gasped.

Fred and George were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, apparently too appalled to speak.

‘This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy,’ Dumbledore continued. ‘But I am sure you will enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts-‘

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall banged open.

A man stood in the doorway, leaning on a long staff, shrouded in a black travelling cloak. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark grey hair, then began to walk up to the teachers’ table.

A dull _clunk_ echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the table and limped heavily towards Dumbledore. A flash of lightning crossed the ceiling and John cringed.

The lightning had illuminated the man’s face. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces were supposed to look like. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of nose was missing. But it was the man’s that made him frightening.

One of them was small, dark and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking. It rolled up, down and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye – then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of his head.

John looked nervously over at Sherlock, unable to tell if his unease was simply caused by the man’s appearance, or something more. Sherlock furrowed his brow thoughtfully and stared at the man.

The stranger sat down in the empty seat beside Dumbledore.

‘May I introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,’ Dumbledore said brightly. ‘Professor Moody.’

‘Moody?’ Harry muttered to Ron. ‘ _Mad-Eye Moody?_ The one your dad went to help this morning?’

‘What gave it away, his mad eye?’ Dean said sarcastically.

‘What happened to him?’ Hermione whispered. ‘What happened to his _face?’_

‘Dunno,’ Ron whispered back, watching Moody with fascination.

Moody seemed totally indifferent to the less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached into his travelling cloak, pulled out a hip-flask, and took a long draught from it. John suddenly got a strong taste of leather and cabbage in his mouth, which he tried to wash away with a swallow of pumpkin juice.

Dumbledore cleared his throat again. ‘As I was saying,’ he said, ‘we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.’

‘You’re JOKING!’ Fred Weasley said loudly.

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody’s arrival suddenly broke.

Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively. ‘I am _not_ joking, Mr Weasley,’ he said, ‘though, now you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag and a leprechaun who all go into a bar-‘

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

‘Er – but maybe this is not the time… no… where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament… well, some of you will not know what this Tournament involves, so I hope that those who _do_ will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.

‘The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago, as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry – Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took turns in hosting the Tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities – until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the Tournament was discontinued.’

John all of a sudden felt quite dizzy. He swayed and his vision flickered. ‘No, not now,’ he muttered, tightly clutching the table in an attempt to keep himself focused on the Great Hall.

At the Ravenclaw table, Sherlock squirmed uncomfortably, having to resist the urge to climb over the tables to get to John.

‘What is it?’ Cas whispered.

Sherlock nodded over at John, who was sitting stiffly with his jaw clenched.

‘Now?’

‘Unfortunately.’

‘Isn’t this what your link is for?’

‘Yes, but it doesn’t currently seem to be working.’

‘What do you mean not working?’

‘I really think that’s a discussion for another time,’ Sherlock snapped.

Castiel frowned. ‘All right, you can deal with it all on your own,’ he said, irritated.

Meanwhile, John was focusing so much on trying to appear normal that he was paying no attention to his vision at all. All he could see was another version of the Great Hall, only darker. There were many faces around, and they all seemed completely shocked. He jerked away and flashed back to the current Great Hall, and shielded his eyes from the sudden brightness. He jumped as a hand touched his shoulder. ‘Hermione,’ he murmured.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

‘Yeah. Fine,’ he said, though he felt a painful pressure in his temples. He sought out Sherlock’s concerned eyes and gave him a feeble thumbs up.

‘The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang  will be arriving with their short-listed contenders,’ said Dumbledore, John wincing at the sudden loudness of Dumbledore’s voice, ‘and the selection of the champions will take place at Hallowe’en. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, and a thousand Galleons prize money.’

‘I’m going for it!’ Fred hissed down the table.

The Hall buzzed with chatter, and John thought his head might actually explode, until Dumbledore spoke again and it died down.

‘Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age – that is to say, seventeen years or older – will be allowed to put their names forward for consideration. This-‘ Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were looking furious. ‘-is a measure we feel is necessary, given that no underage student below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I personally will be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion. I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.

‘When the delegates from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrive, they will be with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when they are selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!’

Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet, and swarmed towards the doors to the Entrance Hall.

John got to his feet, his head swam and nausea rose in his throat. He put a hand down on the table and leant on it for a moment. Sherlock was soon at his side.

‘What did you see?’ he asked.

‘Nothing, since I was trying very hard not to.’

‘Why would you do that?’

‘I don’t really fancy having an episode in front of the whole school, thanks.’

They followed Harry, Ron, Hermione and the twins out of the Great Hall, listening to Fred and George planning their Ageing Potion, in order to enter the Tournament.

By the time they reached the silver swan portrait, John’s headache had advanced to splitting. They paused by the portrait.

‘At least now we know what happens if you ignore them,’ said Sherlock.

‘You know, funnily enough, that doesn’t actually make me feel better, Sherlock.’

‘I have to stay in Ravenclaw Tower tonight. Will you be all right?’

‘Yeah, ‘course I will. Just need a bit of sleep, I think.’

‘Goodnight, then.’

‘Yeah, ‘night.’

John left him and hurried after the other Gryffindors, reaching them just as they opened the portrait hole. A crackling fire was warming the common room. Hermione cast the merrily dancing flames a dark look, and muttered ‘ _Slave labour,’_ before bidding the rest of them goodnight and climbing the stairs to the girls’ dormitory.

John went up to the boys’ dormitory with Harry, Ron and Neville. Dean Thomas and Seamus were already up there, getting into bed.

Once in his pyjamas and in bed, John drew the curtains around his four-poster bed. It was very comfortable, lying in bed, listening to the storm raging outside.

‘I might go in for it, you know,’ Ron said sleepily through the darkness, ‘if Fred and George find out how to… the Tournament… you never know, do you?’

‘S’pose not,’ Harry mumbled.

John rolled over and briefly imagined himself as Hogwarts champion. ‘I don’t reckon I’d be allowed to enter even if I was of age,’ he said. ‘Seer powers and all, they might count it as cheating.’

‘Yeah, true,’ said Ron.

‘Not that I’d be any good anyway,’ John said, pushing the thought away. It would all be too much fuss anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks again to rainingcatz and hhhelcat for the awesome comments! Hope you all enjoy it and I'll see you next time!


	11. Mad-Eye Moody

Mad-Eye Moody

When John awoke the next morning, his headache was nothing more than a lingering irritation. He cracked his eyes open and was confronted by the wide, ugly face of Trevor the toad. He groaned and sat up. ‘Neville, I found Trevor,’ he said groggily.

‘Oh. Just leave him, he’ll find somewhere comfortable,’ Neville said back, equally as groggy.

The storm had blown itself out overnight, but the sky was still gloomy. They all examined their new timetables at breakfast.

‘Today’s not bad… outside all morning,’ said Ron, running his finger down the Monday column of his timetable. ‘Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures… Damn, still with the Slytherins…’

‘Double Divination this afternoon,’ Harry groaned.

‘What have you got?’ John asked Sherlock.

‘Transfiguration and Potions this morning,’ Sherlock said. ‘Then Magical Creatures this afternoon.’

‘Wait, since when do you do Care of Magical Creatures?’

‘Since I dropped Divination,’ Sherlock shrugged.

‘You’re eating again, I notice,’ said Ron, watching Hermione add liberal amounts of jam to his buttered toast.

‘I’ve decided there are better ways of making a stand about elf rights,’ Hermione said haughtily.

‘Yeah, and you were hungry,’ said Ron, grinning.

There was a sudden rustling noise above them, and a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows, carrying the morning mail. The owls circled the table, looking for the people whom their letters and parcels were addressed. A large tawny owl soared down to Neville, who always forgot to pack something. Then, much to John’s surprise, a letter dropped in front of him.

‘It’s from Dumbledore,’ he said, opening it.

 

_John,_

_I would very much like to hear about your summer, and we still have much to discuss. I would be grateful if you and Sherlock could come by my office after dinner today. The password is ‘Chocolate Drops’._

_Professor Dumbledore_

‘What does he want to see you for?’ asked Ron.

Sherlock shrugged. ‘Most likely he wants to ask how John’s powers are progressing.’

‘Best be off,’ said John, rising and tucking the letter into his pocket. He was preoccupied all the way down to the greenhouses until he saw a familiar face. ‘Molly!’ he said, greeting her with a hug. ‘How was your summer?’

‘Oh, hello, John,’ she smiled. ‘It wasn’t too bad. Yours?’

‘Oh, you know. Spent most of it with Sherlock and you know what he’s like. Never any peace, eh?’

‘Yes, he’s certainly something…’

But then the lessons started and Professor Sprout showed them the ugliest plants they’d ever seen. They looked less like plants and more like giant, thick black slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each was squirming slightly, and had a number of large, shiny swellings that appeared to be full of liquid.

‘Oh, those are lovely,’ John said, eyeing up the one in front of him.

‘Aren’t they just,’ said Molly, pulling on her dragon-hide gloves.

‘Don’t know if we need those yet.’

‘I’m not likely to be touching them with my bare hands, no matter what they are,’ she pointed out.

‘Bubotubers,’ Professor Sprout said briskly, standing at the front of the class. ‘They need squeezing. You will collect the pus-‘

‘The _what?’_ Seamus said, disgusted.

‘Pus, Finnigan, pus, and it’s extremely valuable, so don’t waste it. You will collect the pus in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves, it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted.’

Molly gave John a brief, smug look.

‘Yeah, all right,’ John said good-naturedly, pulling on his own gloves.

Squeezing Bubotubers was disgusting. As each swelling was popped, a large amount of thick, yellowish green liquid burst forth, which smelled strongly of petrol. They caught it in bottles as Professor Sprout had indicated, and by the end of the lesson, had collected several pints.

‘This’ll keep Madam Pomfrey happy,’ said Professor Sprout, stoppering the bottles. ‘An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples.’

‘Like poor Eloise Midgen,’ said Hannah Abbot. ‘She tried to curse hers off.’

‘Silly girl,’ said Professor Sprout, shaking her head. ‘But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end.’

The bell echoed across the wet grounds and the class separated: The Hufflepuffs up to Transfiguration and the Gryffindors over to Hagrid’s for Care of Magical Creatures.

Hagrid was already outside waiting for them, with several open wooden crates at his feet. As they drew nearer, the crates rattled and emitted what sounded like small explosions.

‘Mornin’!’ Hagrid said, grinning at them. ‘Better wait fer the Slytherins, they won’ want ter miss this – Blast-Ended-Skrewts!’

‘Come again?’ said Ron.

Hagrid pointed down at the crates.

‘Eurgh!’ squealed Lavender Brown, jumping backwards.

‘Eurgh’ just about summed up the Blast-Ended-Skrewts. John peered into one of the crates and saw a clutch of what looked like deformed, shell-less lobsters. Horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out at odd places, and no visible heads, there were about a hundred of them in each crate. At about six inches long, they crawled over each other, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They gave off a very powerful smell of rotting fish, and every now and then, sparks flew out of the end of a Skrewt, propelling it forweard several inches.

John was suddenly flashed into a location he didn’t recognise. It was dark and he was quite alone, at least he thought he was until he turned around and froze. He was facing a giant creature that could only be a fully-grown Blast-Ended Skrewt. At ten feet long, it looked like a huge scorpion, its tail curled over its back like a sting, and its thick armour made it look impervious to most forms of attack. John backed away from it, but tripped on his own feet and fell. His back hit the ground, the sky lightened, and he was back in front of Hagrid’s cabin.

All the other Gryffindors were crowded around him, looking concerned.

‘I’m okay,’ he said, clambering to his feet and dusting himself off. He looked down at the crates distastefully. ‘You’re going to need bigger boxes,’ he said to Hagrid.

‘Really?’ Hagrid said eagerly.

‘Oh yeah. Way bigger.’

Hagrid grinned broadly. ‘On’y just hatched,’ he said proudly, ‘so yeh’ll be able ter raise ‘em yerselves. Thought we’d make a project of it!’

‘And why would we _want_ to raise them?’

Malfoy and the Slytherins had arrived.

Hagrid looked stumped at the question.

‘I mean, what do they _do?’_ asked Malfoy. ‘What’s the _point_ of them?’

Hagrid paused for a moment, thinking hard. ‘That’s next lesson, Malfoy,’ he said. ‘Yer jus’ feedin’ ‘em today. Now, yeh’ll want ter try ‘em on a few different things – I’ve never had ‘em before, not sure what they’ll go fer – I got ant eggs an’ frog livers an’ a bit o’ grass snake – just try ‘em out with a bit of each.’

‘First pus and now this,’ muttered Seamus.

The endeavour seemed entirely pointless, because the Skrewts didn’t seem to have mouths.

‘ _Ouch!’_ yelled Dean Thomas, after about ten minutes. ‘It got me!’

Hagrid hurried over to him.

‘It exploded!’ Dean said angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand.

‘Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off,’ said Hagrid, nodding.

‘Eurgh,’ Lavender said again. ‘Eurgh, Hagrid, what’s that pointy thing on it?’

‘Ah, some of ‘em have got stings,’ Hagrid said enthusiastically. ‘I reckon they’re the males… the females’ve got sorta sucker things on their bellies… I think they might be ter suck blood.’

‘Well, I can certainly see why we’re trying to keep them alive,’ Malfoy said sarcastically. ‘Who wouldn’t want pets that can burn, sting and bite all at once?’

‘Just because they’re not very pretty doesn’t mean they’re not useful,’ Hermione snapped. ‘Dragon blood’s amazingly magical, but you wouldn’t want a dragon for a pet, would you?’

John smiled to himself, remembering Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback.

‘Well, at least the Skrewts are small,’ said Ron, as they made their way up to the castle for lunch.

‘They are _now,’_ said Hermione in an exasperated tone, ‘but once Hagrid’s found out what they eat, I expect they’ll be six feet long.’

‘More like ten, actually,’ said John.

‘Oh, fantastic.’

‘Well, that won’t matter if they turn out to cure sea-sickness, or something, will it?’ said Ron, grinning slyly at her.

‘You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up. As a matter of fact, I think he’s right. The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all.’

They sat down at the Gryffindor table and were joined by their other friends.

‘What did you see?’ Sherlock asked, sitting next to John.

‘And hello to you too,’ said John, grabbing a ham sandwich.

‘John, please.’

‘It was nothing special,’ John shrugged. ‘Just a nice, up close and personal look at one of Hagrid’s murder lobsters.’

‘Murder lobsters?’ Dean interrupted. ‘Sounds like you met the Skrewts.’

‘What are Skrewts?’ said Sherlock.

‘When’s your next Magical Creatures lesson?’

‘After lunch.’

‘Oh, then you’ll find out.’

Hermione, meanwhile, was eating at top speed.

‘Is this your new stand on elf rights?’ said Ron. ‘You’re going to make yourself puke instead?’

‘No, I just want to get to the library.’

‘ _What?’_ Ron said in disbelief. ‘Hermione, it’s the first day back! We haven’t even got homework yet!’

Hermione shrugged and continued to shovel down her food. Then she leapt to her feet, said, ‘See you at dinner!’ and departed at high speed.

‘Have fun with the Skrewts,’ John said to Sherlock, as the afternoon bell rang.

‘Well, I’m not the one that has Double Divination,’ Sherlock shot back.

‘You know what, I don’t even know which is worse.’

The familiar perfume of Professor Trelawney’s classroom filled their nostrils, as they climbed into her circular tower room.

John sat down in his regular seat, feeling relaxed, as he always did in Trelawney’s classroom.

‘Good day,’ said a misty voice, as Trelawney emerged from the shadows.

John allowed his mind to wander while Trelawney performed her usual routine, predicting Harry’s imminent death.

‘My dears, it is time for us to consider the stars,’ she said eventually. ‘The movements of the planets and the mysterious portents they reveal only to those who understand the steps of the celestial dance. Human destiny may be deciphered by the planetary rays.’

John leaned back in his chair and was surprised when he saw the stars filling the ceiling, similarly to the charm showing the sky in the Great Hall. The stars were moving ever so slightly, but when he looked around at everyone else, he realised he was the only one seeing it. _Odd,_ he thought. Visions rarely presented themselves without tearing him away from the present, and often with the added bonus of knocking him out. Some stars moved and made themselves more prominent until they formed the constellation Sagittarius. _Subtle,_ he thought. Then one of Trelawney’s candles went out. The smoke curled up to the ceiling and briefly looked like two people dancing. _Written in the stars,_ John thought, chuckling at his own joke.

‘What are you looking at, dear?’ Trelawney broke in.

‘What?’ The stars disappeared and John looked back down at Trelawney’s bespectacled face. ‘Oh, nothing.’

She turned away to look at Harry. ‘As I was saying, dear, you were clearly born under the baleful influence of Saturn,’ she said.

‘Born under – what, sorry?’ said Harry, who clearly had not been paying attention either.

‘Saturn, dear, the planet Saturn!’ said Trelawney, irritated that he wasn’t riveted by this news. ‘I was saying that Saturn was surely in a position of power in the heavens at your birth… your dark hair… your mean stature… tragic losses so young in life… I think I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in mid-winter?’

‘No,’ said Harry, ‘I was born in July.’

Ron hastily turned his laugh into a hacking cough, and John hid his own amused smile.

Half an hour later, each of them had been given a complicated circular chart, and was attempting to fill in the position of the planets at the moment of their birth. John filled his in easily enough. Without the need to consult timetables or calculate any of the angles, he was finished fairly quickly.

‘Surely that’s cheating,’ Ron complained.

‘I don’t think so,’ John grinned. ‘This _is_ Divination.’

‘I’ve got two Neptunes here,’ said Harry, frowning at his parchment, ‘that can’t be right, can it?’

‘Aaaah,’ said Ron, imitating Trelawney’s mystical whisper, ‘when two Neptunes appear in the sky, it is a sure sign that a midget in glasses is being born, Harry…’

John, Seamus and Dean Thomas sniggered.

Trelawney swept over to John and examined his chart. ‘I’m sorry, but this is all wrong,’ she informed him. ‘Perhaps I should instruct you in the calculations once more.’

‘What? No, it’s not wrong.’

‘Yes, it is, Mars is completely out of place.’

‘No, no, Mars is – is right there,’ John said. ‘It’s right there, and it’s – it’s very bright.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, trying to slow the spinning sensation that had accosted him. ‘Fine, I’ll change it.’ He tried to see what was causing the spinning, but could only see the night sky, in which Mars was shining particularly brightly. He ground his teeth, frustrated that he couldn’t see more.

‘Oh, Professor, look!’ Lavender squealed excitedly. ‘I think I’ve got an unaspected planet! Which one’s that, Professor?’

‘It is Uranus, my dear,’ said Trelawney, peering down at the chart.

‘Can I have a look at Uranus, too, Lavender?’ said Ron.

Unfortunately, Trelawney heard him, and it was this, perhaps, that made her give them so much homework at the end of class.

‘A detailed analysis of the ways the planetary movements in the coming month will affect you, with reference to your personal chart,’ she snapped, sounding much more like Professor McGonagall than her usual misty self. ‘I want it ready to hand in next Monday, and no excuses!’

‘Miserable old bat,’ Ron said bitterly, as they joined the crowds descending the staircases back to the Great Hall. ‘That’ll take all weekend, that will…’

‘Lots of homework?’ said Hermione brightly, catching up with them. ‘Professor Vector didn’t give us any at all.’

‘Well, bully for Professor Vector,’ Ron said moodily.

They reached the Entrance Hall, where they were joined by Sherlock, Cas and Dean. They were just about to go into the Great Hall, when a loud voice rang out behind them.

‘Weasley! Hey, Weasley!’

They turned and saw Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle standing there.

‘What?’ Ron said shortly.

‘Your dad’s in the paper, Weasley!’ said Malfoy, brandishing a copy of the _Daily Prophet,_ and speaking loudly so that everyone in the Entrance Hall could hear. ‘Listen to this!’

 

_FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC_

_It seems as though the Ministry of Magic’s troubles are not yet at an end,_ writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondant. _Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office._

Malfoy looked up. ‘Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley, it’s almost as though he’s a complete nonentity, isn’t it?’ he crowed. He straightened the paper with a flourish, and read on:

 _Arnold Weasley, who as charged with the possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr Weasley appeared to have rushed to the aid of ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when he was no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and an attempted murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr Weasley found, upon arriving at Mr Moody’s heavily guarded house, that Mr Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape the policemen, but refused to answer_ Daily Prophet _questions about why he involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene._

‘And there’s a picture, Weasley!’ said Malfoy, flipping the paper over and holding it up. ‘A picture of your parents outside your house – if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn’t she?’

Without anyone noticing, Castiel had walked around the Entrance Hall, and came up behind Malfoy. He reached over Malfoy’s shoulder and jerked the paper out of his hands.

Malfoy turned angrily, but faltered at Castiel’s now drawn wand, held loosely in his hand, and his now intimidating height. ‘You won’t do anything,’ he said boldly. ‘Look at you, you’re pathetic.’

‘Pathetic, am I?’ He threw the paper down, pointed his wand, and the paper burst into flames without a word from Castiel. The paper curled and the Hall was silent. Castiel had not broken eye contact with Malfoy. He leaned closer. ‘I will thank you to keep your mouth shut in the future,’ he said in a low voice, then walked back over to the others. The students parted to let him through.

BANG!

Several people screamed and Cas felt something white hot graze the side of his face. He spun around, but before he’d raised his wand again, another BANG, and a roar echoed through the Hall.

‘OH NO YOU DON’T, LADDIE!’

Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His wand was out and pointing straight at a pure white ferret, which was shivering on the floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing.

There was a terrified silence in the Entrance Hall. Nobody moved a muscle. Moody turned to look at Cas, at least, his normal eye was looking at Cas. The other was pointed into the back of his head. He reached out to touch the graze on Cas’s face, but Cas instinctively slapped it away. Cas’s eyes widened fearfully, then looked down at the floor. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, voice barely louder than a whisper. ‘Please don’t touch me.’

Moody nodded. ‘LEAVE IT!’  he shouted.

Cas jumped, then curled inward, rubbing his arm.

‘Not you – him!’ Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who had just frozen, about to pick up the ferret. Moody started to limp towards Crabbe, Goyle and the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking towards the dungeons.

‘I don’t think so!’ roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again. It flew ten feet in the air, fell with a smack to the floor and then bounced upwards once more. Cas inhaled sharply.

‘I don’t like people who attack when their opponent’s back’s turned,’ Moody growled, as the ferret bounced around, higher and higher, squealing in pain.

Castiel watched, unable to tear himself away, becoming more and more distressed with every bounce, until someone covered his eyes.

‘It’s okay, it’s me, Gabriel,’ he said. ‘Just me.’

‘Gabriel,’ Cas whispered, trembling.

‘That’s right. We’re just gonna turn you around now. Everything’s fine, I just need you to keep your eyes closed. Can you do that?’

Cas nodded, and Gabriel lowered his hands. Gabriel then gestured over to Dean, who squeezed through the crowd over to them. ‘Dean’s here now, and he’s going to help you.’

Dean nodded at Gabriel. ‘Hey, Cas, I’m here,’ he said gently. ‘I’m gonna hold your arms and help you outta here, is that okay?’

‘Yes.’

Dean took hold of Cas’s forearms and guided him out of the Entrance Hall, quietly murmuring to him.

‘What was that about?’ said a small voice.

‘Oh, hey, Sam,’ Gabriel said warmly, looking down at him.

‘Is Cas okay?’ Sam asked concern furrowing his brow.

‘He will be. He’s just really afraid of being Transfigured into an animal.’

‘That’s super specific. How come?’

Gabriel hesitated. ‘Someone once turned him into a lizard and did something very similar to that,’ he told Sam, nodding at the ferret that Moody was still bouncing around. ‘Then he was stuck as a lizard for about a week until we figured out how to change him back. He wouldn’t talk to anyone for months after that.’

‘What?’ Sam exclaimed. ‘Who would do that?’

Gabriel was spared having to answer by Professor McGonagall, who was coming down the stairs with her arms full of books.

‘Professor Moody!’ she said in a shocked voice.

‘Hello, Professor McGonagall,’ said Moody calmly, still bouncing the ferret.

‘What – what are you doing?’ said McGonagall, her eyes following the ferret’s progress through the air.

‘Teaching,’ said Moody.

‘Teach- Moody _is that a student?’_ shrieked McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms.

‘Yep,’ said Moody.

‘No!’ cried McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand. A moment later, Malfoy reappeared with a loud popping sound, lying in a heap on the floor. He got to his feet, wincing.

‘Moody, we _never_ use Transfiguration as a punishment! Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?’

‘He might’ve mentioned it, yeah,’ said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, ‘but I thought a good, sharp shock-‘

‘We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender’s Head of house!’

‘I’ll do that then,’ said Moody, staring at Malfoy with great dislike.

Malfoy, who looked utterly humiliated, muttered something in which the words ‘my father’ were audible.

‘Oh yeah?’ said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps. ‘Well, I know your father, boy… you tell him Moody’s keeping a close eye on his son… you tell him from me… now your Head of house will be Snape, will it?’

‘Yes,’ Malfoy said resentfully.

‘Another old friend. I’ve been looking forward to a chat with old Snape… come on, you…’

He seized Malfoy’s upper arm and marched him off towards the dungeons.

The Entrance Hall remained silent for a moment.

‘All right, everyone, let’s go!’ Gabriel called. ‘Time for dinner, there’s nothing more to see here.’

The buzz of chatter swelled and everyone filed into the Great Hall at Gabriel’s words.

‘Is it me, or does Moody seem a bit dodgy to you?’ John said to Sherlock as they sat down.

‘Why do you say that?’ said Sherlock.

‘It’s a bit much, isn’t it, turning someone into a ferret?’

‘Not at all. Exactly what I would have done.’

‘Yeah, that’s what I mean.’ John spooned some beef casserole onto their plates, and Hermione began eating at top speed again.

‘Don’t tell me you’re going to the library again?’ said Harry.

‘Got to,’ said Hermione. ‘Loads to do.’

‘But you told us Professor Vector-‘

‘It’s not school work.’ Within five minutes, she had cleared her plate and departed.

No sooner had she gone than he seat was taken by Fred. ‘Moody!’ he said. ‘How cool is he?’

‘Beyond cool,’ said George, sitting opposite Fred.

‘Supercool,’ said Lee Jordan, sliding into the seat beside George. ‘We had him this afternoon,’ he told them.

‘What was it like?’ Harry said eagerly.

‘Never had a lesson like it,’ said Fred.

‘He _knows,_ man,’ said Lee.

‘Knows what?’ said Ron, leaning forwards.

‘Knows what it’s like to be out there _doing_ it,’ said George.

‘Doing what?’ said Harry.

‘Fighting the Dark Arts,’ said Fred.

‘He’s seen it all,’ said George.

‘’Mazing,’ said Lee.

Ron dived into his bag for his timetable. ‘We haven’t got him ‘til Thursday,’ he said in a disappointed voice.

Just then, Dean returned and sat down.

‘How is he?’ Harry asked.

Dean shrugged. ‘He was practically catatonic by the time I got him to Madam Pomfrey, but she says he’ll be okay.’

‘Gabriel told me what happened to him,’ said Sam, who had run over to them when Dean came in.

‘What do you mean? What happened?’

‘Gabriel said someone turned Cas into a lizard once, and get this, he was stuck like it for a week.’

‘A week? Wow. Yeah, that’ll do it. Who was it?’

‘I don’t know, Gabriel didn’t say.’

John chewed thoughtfully. ‘Maybe I could…’ He looked over at Gabriel and concentrated. As he watched, time slowed and then began to speed backwards. He watched Gabriel through his classes, the feast the night before, and onto the Hogwarts Express. The further back they went, the darker it got, until they reached King’s Cross and it was pitch dark. He couldn’t see anything beyond that.

‘It’ll come eventually,’ said Sherlock.

‘Yeah, well, just an idea. Didn’t think I’d actually be able to see that far.’

‘One day, perhaps.’

‘You’ve got burns on your hand,’ said John, suddenly spotting some fresh, shiny burns on the back of Sherlock’s hand.

‘Yes. It seems that your assessment of the Skrewts as murder lobsters was quite accurate. I tried to pick one up, and it was not pleased.’

‘You tried to- you absolute- why would you-?’

Sherlock’s lips twitched. ‘Are you finished? Dumbledore will be expecting us soon.’

‘Right, yeah, I’m done.’

They got up from the table and John let Sherlock lead the way, as he had never been to Dumbledore’s office. He stopped them in front of in front of an extremely ugly stone gargoyle.

‘Chocolate drops,’ Sherlock said to it.

The gargoyle sprang to life and hopped aside, as the wall behind it. Behind the wall, a spiral staircase was moving smoothly upwards like an escalator. They stepped onto it and rode it upwards, higher and higher in circles until they came to a gleaming oak door with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffon.

Sherlock knocked on the door, which opened on its own. He took that as their cue to enter, and pulled John inside a large and beautiful circular room. It contained a number of curious silver instruments that were stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with old portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, behind which, the Sorting Hat and the sword of Gryffindor were sitting on a shelf, and Dumbledore was smiling at them from his seat behind it.

‘Good evening,’ he said to them. ‘Please sit.’

They sat in chairs that had seemingly been put out for them. As they did so, Fawkes the phoenix lifted off his golden perch by the door and gracefully placed himself on Sherlock’s shoulder.

‘Firstly, I am quite grateful to you both for your letter. I did not receive it in time to catch Voldemort himself, however there was much to be gained from visiting the old Riddle house.’

John deflated, although he supposed there would have been more of a celebration if Voldemort had actually been caught.

‘What about the Ministry witch he killed?’ asked Sherlock. ‘Have you told anyone about her?’

‘There are a select few at the Ministry who have been made aware. Your brother, for example, whose recent appointment as Head of the Department of Mysteries may prove to be a great asset. May I ask, are you avoiding saying her name for any particular reason?’

‘It seems to trigger the vision John has of her. It’s not pleasant.’

‘I see.’ Dumbledore leaned forward slightly and looked John in the eyes. ‘John, what happens in this vision?’

John shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. ‘I see her. She’s floating in the air. I don’t know where it is, but there’s a fire. Wormtail is there and he’s holding Voldemort in his arms. Then it- then it gets a bit fuzzy. All I can really hear is – is her screaming and Voldemort laughing…’ He trailed off, cringing at the memory.

‘Do they speak at all?’

‘I – er – I think so. I see her lips moving, but the screaming – it echoes too much.’

Dumbledore considered him for a moment. ‘I’m very sorry, John, but I have to ask you to look again.’

John sat back in his chair. ‘Why?’ he asked, his heart jumping.

‘I need to know what she said to them. Anything that may give us an advantage or a clue as to what his plan might be.’

‘It’s all right,’ said Sherlock, turning to face John. ‘You can do it.’

John looked from Dumbledore to Sherlock, then swallowed hard. ‘Okay,’ he said.

‘Professor, do you have some water?’

Dumbledore took a jug and goblets from a shelf and placed them on the desk. He conjured a stream of water from the tip of his wand into the jug.

‘Are you ready?’ said Sherlock.

John took a deep breath and nodded.

‘Okay, John,’ Sherlock said softly. ‘Tell me about her. Tell me about Bertha Jorkins.’

It was almost instantaneous. John was sucked into near darkness and took a moment to get his bearings. The fire was flickering and there was Bertha, hanging limply in the air. Wormtail swam into view, as did the grotesque, foetus-like Voldemort. His wand was raised and then came the screams.

High-pitched, terrible, and accompanied by a twisted and agonised expression. John automatically shrank away from it, the screams encompassing all.

 _Slow down._ Sherlock’s voice reached him and he caught a brief of Sherlock still sitting in front of him. _Slow down,_ he said again. John breathed deeply and moved closer to Bertha, allowing Voldemort and Wormtail to fall out of his field of vision. ‘What are you saying?’ he asked.

‘Triwizard Tournament,’ she said, breathing heavily. Her voice, though ragged and raspy, was now quite clear to him. ‘They’re doing the Triwizard Tournament.’ Her head lolled forward, then Voldemort cursed her again.

‘ _Please!’_ she screamed. ‘I don’t know anything else.’ She began sobbing uncontrollably. ‘Please let me go. That’s all I know.’

‘Perhaps you are right,’ a high, cold voice said. John shivered. ‘I see no more use for you.’

Suddenly a jet of green light shot through John’s chest, freezing him from the inside. It hit Bertha and her sobbing ceased, then John was thrown from the vision, back into Dumbledore’s office. He gasped at the sudden change, and clutched at his chest with both hands. Sherlock tried to give him some water, but he swatted it away. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Too-too cold.’ He wrapped his arms around himself. ‘She-she told them about the Triwizard Tournament,’ he said to Dumbledore. ‘I couldn’t – I couldn’t see anything else.’ His teeth chattered.

‘Thank you, John, that was very helpful,’ said Dumbledore.

‘How was it?’ said Sherlock. ‘We already know that he needs Harry for something, so he won’t be looking for a way to enter him, would he? He wouldn’t want to risk Harry’s death.’

‘Quite astute of you, Sherlock,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Please do not concern yourself with this. I assure you, Harry is quite safe.’

‘But-‘

‘I think it’s time John got back to Gryffindor Tower. He may benefit from a nice warm fire, wouldn’t you agree?’

Fawkes flew back to his perch, singing softly and effectively ending the conversation.

‘Goodnight,’ said Dumbledore.

‘Goodnight,’ they replied.

They made their way back to Gryffindor Tower, John shivering the whole way.

‘You did well, you know,’ Sherlock said as they approached the Fat Lady.

‘W-w-what d’you mean?’

‘You’re getting better at controlling it.’

‘I suppose. B-b-balderdash,’ he said to the Fat Lady.

Hermione still seemed to be in the library, but Harry, Ron and Dean were all sitting around, not doing much.

Sherlock sat John down by the fire, but he could barely feel it.

‘I m-m-might as well just go to b-bed,’ he said quietly.

‘I’ll join you. You could use the extra body heat.’

John didn’t protest and they both went up to the dormitory, though neither of them could sleep for a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone and thanks too hhhelcat and OtakuElf for the comments!
> 
> Some good news, I got a new computer and desk and everything so things are going a lot better now. For some context, my setup before was a broken laptop hooked up to my tv and a wireless keyboard, so writing was a bit difficult. Now that it's better I'm going to attempt to stick to a two week schedule, so look out for me every two Sundays!  
> See you next time!


	12. The Unforgiveable Curses

The next two days passed without great incident, unless you counted Neville melting his sixth cauldron in Potions. Snape gave him detention, which he returned from in a state of nervous collapse, having been made to disembowel a barrelful of horned toads. John tracked down Trevor for him to make him feel better, and Dolly too found her way to him while Hermione taught him a Scouring Charm to remove the guts from under his fingernails.

By Thursday lunchtime, the fourth-year Gryffindors were all quite excited to have their first lesson with Mad-Eye Moody. John was convinced, however, when Sherlock came from his own Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, quiet and pale.

‘What’s wrong?’ John asked, alarmed.

Sherlock said nothing.

‘What’s going on? Where’s Cas?’

‘He left.’

‘He left? As in walked out?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why would he do that?’

Sherlock didn’t answer, only shaking his head.

John scanned the room for Gabriel to ask him instead, but couldn’t see him anywhere. ‘Isn’t the Head Boy supposed to be in here for meals?’

Sherlock still didn’t say anything, so John called down the table to Dean. ‘Have you seen Cas?’

‘No, why?’

‘Just wondering. He’s probably just in the hospital wing.’

‘He isn’t, I was just there.’

‘Oh. What were you doing in the hospital wing?’

‘Venomous Tentacula got me. Again.’

John rolled his eyes and turned back to Sherlock. ‘Come on, tell me what happened.’

‘I’d rather not,’ Sherlock muttered.

‘Why?’

All the Gryffindor fourth-years began gathering up their things.

‘I suppose I’d better go…’ John went slowly, giving Sherlock one last chance, but tutted when he still wouldn’t say. He swung his bag onto his shoulder, but Sherlock caught his wrist before he could leave.

‘Be careful,’ he mumbled.

‘Yeah, thanks,’ said John, taking back his hand. He left with Harry and Ron, trying to ignore both the fluttering sensation in his stomach and the tingling where Sherlock’s skin had met his.

They queued up outside the classroom, where Hermione joined them right at the last minute, after having been in the library. When they entered, they took seats at the front of the classroom and pulled out their copies of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection._ They waited in silence, John now more apprehensive than excited, and soon they heard Moody’s distinctive clunking footsteps.

‘You can put those away,’ he said, stumping over to his desk and sitting down, ‘those books. You won’t need them.’ He then took out a register and began calling out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list, while the magical eye swivelled around, fixing on each student as they answered their names. ‘Right then,’ he said once he was finished with the register. ‘I’ve had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you’ve had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures – you’ve covered Boggarts, Red Caps, Hinkypunks, Grindylows, Kappas and werewolves, is that right?’

There was a general murmur of agreement.

‘But you’re behind – very behind – on dealing with Dark curses. So I’m here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I’ve got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark-‘

‘What, aren’t you staying?’ Ron blurted out.

Moody’s magical eye spun to stare at Ron, and after a moment, he smiled. ‘You’ll be Arthur Weasley’s son, eh?’ Moody said. ‘Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago… yeah, I’m just staying the one year. Special favour to Dumbledore… one year, and then back to my quiet retirement.’ He gave a harsh laugh and clapped his hands together. ‘So – straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry, I’m supposed to teach you counter-curses and leave it at that. I’m not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you’re in the sixth year. You’re not supposed to be old enough to deal with it ‘til then. But Professor Dumbledore’s got a higher opinion of your nerves. He reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you’re up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you’ve never seen? A wizard who’s about to put an illegal curse on you isn’t going to tell you what he’s about to do. He’s not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, while I’m talking.’

Lavender jumped and blushed. She had been showing Parvati her completed horoscope under the desk, which Moody’s magical eye could apparently see through.

‘So… do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?’

Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including Ron’s and Hermione’s.

John’s heart began to race.

Moody pointed at Ron.

‘Er,’ Ron said tentatively, ‘my dad told me about one… is it the Imperius Curse, or something?’

John shuddered involuntarily and Moody’s magical eye swivelled to stare at him.

‘Ah, yes,’ Moody said appreciatively. ‘Your father _would_ know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse.’

Moody got to his feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large, black spiders were scuttling around inside it. He reached inside the jar, caught one of the spiders and held it in the palm of his hand so that they could all see it. He then pointed his wand at it and muttered, ‘ _Imperio!’_

The spider leapt from Moody’s hand on a fine thread of silk, and began to swing backwards and forwards. It stretched out its legs, then did a backflip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. John watched it, feeling quite queasy. Everyone else was laughing at, but John didn’t find it remotely funny.

‘Think it’s funny, do you?’ Moody growled. ‘You’d like it if I did it to you, would you?’

The laughter died away almost instantly.

‘Total control,’ Moody said quietly. ‘I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats… Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse. Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of free will.

‘The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I’ll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone’s got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!’ he barked, making everyone jump. He picked up the somersaulting spider and threw it back into the jar. ‘Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?’

Hermione’s hand flew into the air and so did Neville’s. Neville looked surprised at his own daring.

‘Yes?’ said Moody.

‘There’s one – the Cruciatus curse,’ said Neville, in a small, but distinct voice.

Moody was looking at him very intently, with both eyes. Meanwhile, John was wracked with shivers and his bones began to ache. His eyes flicked around for a feasible means of escape. He could just leave, like Castiel had. _Get up,_ he told himself, but Moody’s eye rested on him again, freezing him in place.

‘You’re name’s Longbottom?’ Moody said to Neville.

Neville nodded nervously. Moody then reached into his jar for another spider, which he placed on the desk.

No matter how hard he willed himself to leave, John couldn’t move from the spot, and silently begged Moody not to do what he was about to do.

‘The Cruciatus Curse,’ said Moody. ‘Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea.’ He pointed his wand at the spider. ‘ _Engorgio!’_

The spider swelled until it was bigger than a tarantula, and Ron pushed his chair backwards, away from Moody’s desk. Moody pointed his wand again, and muttered, ‘ _Crucio!’_

A similar sensation to when he’d seen the Dark Mark hit John like a freight train, only with more pain than fear. His mouth opened but he was in too much pain for any sound to come out. His fists clenched on the desk and all his muscles tightened. Then he heard Hermione’s voice, as if she was speaking from a great distance.

‘Stop it!’ she said shrilly.

Moody lowered his wand, and the pain John was feeling faded away. He slumped against his desk, quietly gasping for breath.

‘ _Reducio,’_ Moody muttered. The spider shrank and Moody put it back in the jar. ‘Pain,’ he said softly. ‘You don’t need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse… that one was very popular once, too… Right… anyone know any others?’

John groaned. _No more,_ he thought, both sweating and shivering. _Please._

Hermione’s hand shook slightly as, for the third time, she raised it into the air.

‘Yes?’ said Moody.

‘ _Avada Kedavra,’_ Hermione whispered.

‘Ah,’ said Moody. ‘Yes, the last and worst. _Avada Kedavra…_ the killing curse.’ He put his hand back in the jar and pulled out the last, frantic spider. He put it on the desk, raised his wand and roared, ‘ _Avada Kedavra!’_

There was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, then John blacked out, slipping sideways out of his chair. His head hit the leg of Neville’s desk next to him and he fell to the ground with a thump.

A few people stifled cries and Hermione leapt to her feet. Others were still looking at the spider on the desk that was unmistakeably dead.

Hermione stepped over to John and lifted up his head to get a look at the injury. A small cut on his forehead was bleeding slightly, but it didn’t seem too bad.

Moody swept the dead spider off the desk onto the floor, then stumped over to John and pointed his wand. ‘ _Rennervate,’_ he said.

John’s eyes flickered open and he groaned, putting a hand to his head. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘You passed out,’ Hermione said, as Harry and Ron helped John back into his seat.

‘You hit your head on my desk,’ said Neville.

‘Oh.’ John squinted at him, his head swimming and his body still aching. ‘Sorry.’

Moody went back to his desk and looked around at them all. ‘Not nice,’ he said calmly. ‘Not pleasant. And there’s no counter-curse. There’s no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and he’s sitting right in front of me.’

Most of the class turned to look at Harry, whose face reddened.

‘Avada Kedavra’s a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it – you could all get your wands out now, say the words and point them at me, and I doubt I’d get more than a nosebleed. But that doesn’t matter, I’m not here to teach you how to do it.

‘Now, if there’s no counter-curse, then why am I showing you? _Because you’ve got to know._ You’ve got to appreciate what the worst is. You don’t want to find yourself in a situation where you’re facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!’ he roared. The whole class jumped again and John’s head throbbed.

‘Now, these three curses – Avada Kedavra, Imperius and Cruciatus – are known as the Unforgiveable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That’s what you’re up against. That’s what I’ve got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice _constant, never-ceasing vigilance._ Get out your quills… copy this down…’

They spent the rest of the lesson taking notes on the Unforgiveable Curses. John found himself to be particularly lethargic after his episode, so Hermione helped him once she had finished her own. They were silent until the bell rang and Moody dismissed them.

‘Not you, Watson,’ he growled as the others left. ‘A word.’

John was already on his feet, a little wobbly, but no worse for wear.

‘You’ll be the Seer, then?’ Moody said.

‘Yep, that’s me,’ said John, leaning against the desk.

‘Dumbledore told me about you. He reckons you’re quite powerful. More powerful than any he’s ever seen.’

‘Well, that’s very nice of him, but I wouldn’t know. I’ve never met any other Seers.’

‘Yeah, well I have and, as far as I can tell, he’s right.’

John rubbed his head. ‘What makes you say that?’

Moody came around the desk and stood in front of him. ‘Of all the Seers I’ve met, none of them have had quite the reaction the Unforgiveable Curses as you did. Just my way of gauging it.’

John narrowed his eyes. ‘All of them saw some of the curses?’

‘Maybe you know this already, but Seers are few and far between. They’re valuable, and devastating in the wrong hands. That’s why I’ve been personally assigned to protect them in the past.’

‘That’s not very encouraging.’

Moody uttered a barking laugh. ‘Don’t worry, Watson, you’ve got me for the time being. Anyway, I wanted to apologise for today. I should have warned you what I was going to do, and given you the option to leave.’

‘It’s fine,’ John shrugged. ‘I never know what’ll trigger it anyway.’

‘Is that right?’ Moody considered him for a moment. ‘Did you see anything?’

‘Oh, no. With stuff like – where there are stronger feelings – it’s really hard to tell what’s going on.’

Moody nodded, then looked at the cut on John’s head. ‘You should get Madam Pomfrey to look at that.’

‘It’s fine, I have a friend who’ll fix it.’

‘You do?’

‘Yeah, Castiel.’

‘Edlund? He ran out of my lesson earlier.’

‘He’s not in trouble, is he?’

‘No, he’s not. The curses can be a lot for people to handle.’

‘Good,’ John nodded. ‘I once saw his sister use the Cruciatus Curse on their brother Gabriel. I’m not sure she’d hesitate in using it on Cas, so you can imagine it wouldn’t be easy for him to see a demonstration of it.’

‘His sister?’

‘Yeah, Lucy.’

‘Lucy Edlund, yeah, I know about her. Last I heard, she was setting up some sort of group in America.’

‘She’s doing what now?’

‘That’ll be for MACUSA to deal with. Come on. Dinner.’

Moody escorted him from the room, and found Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Sherlock waiting outside. Hermione had her hand on Neville’s shoulder, who was looking at her, wide-eyed and horrified.

‘It’s all right, sonny,’ Moody said to Neville. ‘Why don’t you come up to my office? Come on… we can have a cup of tea…’

Neville looked even more frightened at the prospect of tea with Moody. He neither moved nor spoke.

‘You all right, are you, Potter? Holmes?’ he said, magical eye moving over both of them

‘Yes,’ said Harry.

Sherlock nodded.

‘You’ve got to know,’ Moody said. ‘It seems harsh, maybe, _but you’ve got to know._ No point in pretending… well… come on, Longbottom, I’ve got some books that might interest you.’

Neville looked terrified, but since none of them said anything, he had no choice but to go with Moody.

Once they were gone, Sherlock went over to John and placed a hand on his head. ‘Hermione told me what happened,’ he said.

John swatted his hand away. ‘Yeah, well, you could have told me what he was going to do.’

‘I confess, I was quite shaken myself. The effects of the Imperius Curse are frightening. Of course, I knew about it already, but knowing and seeing are two different things.’

‘You’re okay now, though?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. I’m starving, let’s go.’

‘Some lesson though, eh?’ said Ron, as they set off for the Great Hall. ‘Fred and George were right, weren’t they? He really knows his stuff, doesn’t he? When he did that Avada Kedavra, the way the spider just _died,_ just snuffed it right-‘

But Ron fell silent at the look on Harry’s face.

‘Tact isn’t really your strong suit, is it?’ said Sherlock.

‘Oh yeah, like it’s yours,’ Ron snapped.

John was very glad to finally get some food, and sat heavily down at the Gryffindor table.

‘You should get Cas to look at that,’ Sherlock said, eyeing John’s cut.

‘He’s not here,’ said John, shoving some chips into his mouth. ‘Gabriel’s over there, though, you could ask him. He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at Gabriel.

Sherlock looked up.

Dean had also been looking around the room for Cas, so Sherlock waved him over and they went up to Gabriel together.

‘What’s up, guys?’ he said, smiling brightly.

‘We’re just looking for Cas, have you seen him?’ said Dean.

‘Uh, nope. Haven’t seen him. Have you tried the hospital wing?’

‘We know you were with him earlier. We noticed you weren’t here at lunch,’ Sherlock said.

Gabriel shook his head, chuckling. ‘I shoulda known I couldn’t get one over on you, Sherlock. Yeah, I was with him earlier.’

‘What’s going on?’ said Dean.

Gabriel’s smile slid away. ‘Listen, guys, he’s been having a really tough time lately, and it’s all a little much for him. You don’t need to worry about him, he’s somewhere safe and quiet.’

‘How long will he be?’ Dean asked.

‘Just for the weekend for now. Dumbledore says he can take as much time as he needs, but I think he’ll probably be back in time for lessons on Monday.’

‘I don’t get it, what’s the problem?’

‘The Cruciatus Curse,’ Sherlock said softly.

‘What about it?’

‘Professor Moody has been demonstrating the Unforgiveable Curses on spiders,’ Sherlock told him.

‘Look, Sherlock, I know you could probably find him if you wanted, but I’m asking you, please don’t. Sometimes not even I can calm him down, and when that happens, he just needs space, otherwise…’

‘Otherwise what?’ said Sherlock.

‘It doesn’t matter, just, please?’

Sherlock reluctantly agreed.

‘Oh, great, thank you,’ Gabriel said, his smile returning. ‘By the way, Dean, Sam’s been doing really well.’

‘Awesome,’ Dean grinned.

‘Yeah, Professor Flitwick told me the other day that he wants Sam to take more advanced Charms lessons, so we’re looking for someone to tutor him…’

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went back to John, who was looking exceptionally tired.

‘Time to go upstairs, I think,’ Sherlock said. ‘Though, a visit to Madam Pomfrey first might not be remiss.’

‘Just leave it,’ John grumbled, suddenly quite grouchy.

‘Why?’ Sherlock said, surprised.

‘You know, sometimes I just want to feel like a normal human being, okay?’ he snapped. ‘It’s not life-threatening, it’ll heal on its own. Goodnight.’ He stalked off alone. Once in the common room, he remembered the Divination work he had to do, so went up to the dormitory to get his copy of _Unfogging the Future._ He found Neville already up there, sitting on his own bed, reading a book.

‘Oh, hello, Neville,’ he said.

‘Hey,’ said Neville. He was looking a great deal calmer than he had earlier, though his were a little red.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just reading this book Professor Moody gave me.’ He held up a copy of _Magical Mediterranean Water-Plants and their Properties._ ‘Professor Sprout told Professor Moody I’m really good at Herbology.’ There was a faint note of pride in his voice. ‘He thought I’d like this.’

‘Well, it does seem like your kind of thing,’ John smiled. ‘You are really good at Herbology.’

‘Wait,’ Neville said as John made to leave. ‘You didn’t happen to – _see_ anything today, did you? About me?’

‘Oh, no, I didn’t. Why?’

‘No reason… If you do ever see something, you won’t tell anyone, will you?’

‘No, of course not.’ John sat down on his own bed. ‘Neville, I can’t really control it, but if something does come up, I promise I’ll try my hardest not to look and, well, I’m sorry if I do.’

‘You don’t need to apologise,’ said Neville, looking up from his book. ‘We all know you can’t help it.’

‘Even still,’ said John. He popped open the top of Dolly’s tank next to his bed, pulled her out and held her in his lap. ‘A person shouldn’t have so much power. Seeing into other people’s lives feels… wrong.’

Neville put his book down completely, and got up to sit next to John, bringing Trevor with him. ‘When I think about the powers you have, I can’t really think of someone better to have them,’ Neville said, plopping Trevor next to Dolly, where they both warbled happily. ‘There are lots of people that would use it for bad things, like spying, or cheating, but I couldn’t imagine you doing any of those things. I could only imagine you doing good with it.’

‘That’s – that’s really nice of you, Neville.’

Neville shrugged. ‘It’s just the truth. Most of us feel the same way – well most of us that know about it anyway – so I don’t think anyone really minds if you see something a bit private.’

John nodded and felt his chin wobble. Before he knew it, tears were pricking at his eyes and he was biting back quiet sobs. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, wiping his eyes. ‘It’s just hard, and it hurts sometimes, and knowing that it’ll be this way forever…’

‘Not forever, surely?’ Neville said kindly. ‘You’ll get better once you can control it. And you’ve got Sherlock to help you.’

John snorted weakly. ‘Yeah. Sherlock’ll be there.’

‘You like him, don’t you?’

John’s head snapped up, heart in his throat.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.’

John opened his mouth, but clamped it shut again when Harry and Ron entered the room. Neville smiled at him, picked up Trevor and went back to his own bed.

‘You all right?’ Ron asked, noticing John’s wet cheeks.

John cleared his throat and stood up, placing Dolly on his shoulder. ‘Yeah, I’m okay.’ He went into his trunk for some extra parchment and saw the tie boxes he and Sherlock had bought in Diagon Alley. _Made to match._ He shook the thought out of his head and went downstairs with Harry and Ron. They found a table and set to work on their predictions for the coming month. An hour later, John had finished. His predictions mostly involved the weather, and what little information he could get from small snippets he saw of himself in the future.

Harry and Ron, however, had made little progress. Ron threw down his quill and sighed in frustration.

‘John, you don’t think you could…?’

‘Give myself a headache doing your homework for you? No thanks.’

‘I haven’t got a clue what any of this is supposed to mean,’ Ron groaned.

John stretched and yawned. ‘Just make it up,’ he said, stacking his notes.

‘What?’

‘Yeah, make it up. It’s not like she’ll know. Throw in a bit of misery and she’ll love it.’

A grin slowly spread over Ron’s face and he cleared the table of his crumpled notes and equations. ‘Next Monday,’ he said, scribbling on fresh parchment, ‘I am likely to develop a cough, owing to the unlucky conjunction of Mars and Jupiter.’

‘Right,’ said Harry, crumpling up his first attempt and lobbing it over the heads of a group of chattering first-years into the fire. ‘Okay… on Monday, _I_ will be in danger of – er – burns.’

‘Yeah, you will be,’ said Ron, ‘we’re seeing the Skrewts again on Monday. Okay, Tuesday, _I’ll_ … erm…’

‘Lose a treasured possession,’ said Harry, flicking through _Unfogging the Future_ for ideas.

‘Good one,’ said Ron, copying it down. ‘Because of… erm… Mercury. Why don’t you get stabbed in the back by someone you thought was a friend?’

‘Yeah… cool…’ said Harry, ‘because Venus is in the twelfth house.’

‘And on Wednesday, I think I’ll come off worse in a fight.’

‘Aaah, I was going to lose a fight. Okay, I’ll lose a bet.’

‘Yeah, you’ll be betting I’ll win my fight…’

John laughed at them as they continued to make up increasingly tragic predictions for the next hour, and even contributing a few suggestions himself. The common room began to empty, then the portrait hole opened and Hermione climbed in. She was carrying a sheaf of parchment in one hand and a box, whose contents rattled as she walked, in the other hand. ‘Hello!’ she said. ‘I’ve just finished!’

‘So have I! said Ron, triumphantly, throwing down his quill.

Hermione sat down, laid the things she was carrying in an empty armchair and pulled Ron’s predictions towards her. ‘Not going to have a very good month, are you?’ she said as Crookshanks curled up in her lap.

‘Ah well, at least I’m forewarned,’ Ron yawned.

‘You seem to be drowning twice.’

‘Oh, am I?’ Ron peered down at his predictions. ‘I’d better change that to being trampled by a rampaging Hippogriff.’

John laughed loudly, almost dislodging Dolly from his shoulder. She croaked indignantly in his ear.

‘Well, I’m glad you think it’s funny,’ Hermione said to him, rolling her eyes.

‘Nothing wrong with a good laugh, Hermione,’ John grinned.

‘Don’t you think it’s a bit obvious you’ve made these up?’

‘How dare you!’ Ron said in mock outrage. ‘We’ve been working like house-elves here!’

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

‘It’s just an expression,’ Ron said hastily.

Harry laid down his quill too. ‘What’s in the box?’ he asked Hermione, pointing at it.

‘Funny you should ask,’ said Hermione, with a nasty look at Ron. She took off the lid and showed them the contents.

Inside were about fifty badges, all of different colours, but all bearing the same letters: S.P.E.W.

‘”Spew”?’ said Harry, picking up a badge and looking at it. ‘What’s this about?’

‘Not _spew,’_ Hermione said impatiently. ‘It’s S-P-E-W. Stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare.’

‘Never heard of it,’ said Ron.

‘Of course you haven’t, I’ve only just started it.’

‘Yeah?’ said Ron. ‘How many members have you got?’

‘Well – if you three join – four.’

John looked up at her, but she had changed. She was older and her hair was escaping an attempt at a bun. She had a clipboard and a quill, and she was dressed in Ministry robes.

‘John?’

He blinked and she was her present self again.

‘What? I’m fine. Sorry. Carry on.’

‘You don’t think we want to walk around wearing badges that say “spew”, do you?’ said Ron.

‘S-P-E-W!’ Hermione said hotly. ‘I was going to put Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status – but it wouldn’t fit. So that’s the heading of our manifesto.’

‘I’ll join,’ said John.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, why not?’

She smiled at him, and brandished the sheaf of parchment. ‘I’ve been researching it thoroughly in the library. Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can’t believe no one’s done anything about it before now.’

‘Hermione, open your ears,’ said Ron. ‘They. Like. It. They _like_ being enslaved!’

‘Our short-term aims,’ said Hermione, speaking over Ron, ‘are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing the laws about non-wand-use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because they’re shockingly underrepresented.’

‘And how do we do all this?’ Harry asked.

‘We start by recruiting members,’ Hermione said happily. ‘I thought two Sickles to join – that buys a badge – and the proceeds can fund our leaflet campaign. You’re treasurer, Ron – I’ve got you a collecting tin upstairs – and Harry, you’re secretary, so you might want to write down everything I’m saying now, as a record of our first meeting.’

John dug through his pockets and found the Sickles needed. Hermione beamed at him as she wrote his name down on another piece of parchment, and gave him a badge, which he pinned to the front of his robes.

Just then, there was a soft _tap tap_ on the window. They looked across the now empty common room and, illuminated by the moonlight, was a snowy owl perched on the window-sill.

‘Hedwig!’ Harry shouted, launching himself out of his chair and across the room. He yanked the window open, letting Hedwig soar in and land on his predictions. ‘About time!’ said Harry, hurrying after her.

‘She’s got an answer!’ Ron said, pointing at a grubby piece of parchment tied to her leg.

Harry hastily untied it and sat down to read it.

The letter was very short, and looked as though it had been scrawled in a hurry. Harry read it aloud:

 

_Harry-_

_I’m flying north immediately. This news about your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumours that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore – they’re saying he’s got Mad-Eye Moody out of retirement, which means he’s reading the signs, even if no one else is._

_I’ll be in touch soon. My best to your friends. Keep your eyes open, Harry._

_Sirius._

‘He’s flying north?’ Hermione whispered. ‘He’s coming back?’

‘Dumbledore’s reading what signs?’ said Ron, looking perplexed.

‘Let me see that,’ said John, pointing at the letter, which Ron handed him.

‘I shouldn’t have told him!’ Harry said furiously. ‘I’ve made him think he’s got to come back, because he thinks I’m in trouble! And there’s nothing wrong with me!’

‘Harry,’ Hermione began in a pacifying voice.

‘I’m going to bed,’ Harry said shortly. ‘See you in the morning.’

John watched Harry go, the tension clear in his hunched shoulders. He understood Harry’s concern, but the warmth in his fingers coming from the parchment gave him the feeling that Sirius would be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to Pepipanda, hhhelcat and OtakuElf for the awesome comments. I had a really good time talking to you all last time. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and I'll be back again in two weeks!


	13. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang

The next day, John was eating some porridge in the Great Hall, not thinking about anything in particular, until Sam came hurrying up to the him, breathless with excitement and carrying a stack of parchment in his arms. He practically threw himself down next to John and pushed his hair out of his face.

John raised his eyebrows. ‘What’s going on, Sam?’ he asked.

‘Well, I had this idea,’ Sam said. ‘Professor Sprout said I need to challenge myself, and then Professor Flitwick said it might be good if I did a research project.’

‘Okay.’

‘Then I thought that I could maybe do it about Seers.’

John nodded. ‘That’s a tough one. There’s not a lot about Seers in the library.’

‘Right, and I thought about that,’ Sam said enthusiastically. ‘There needs to be more and it needs to be easily accessible. Gabriel told me that it took Cas hours to find anything, and that was just for healing. So I thought I’d start by compiling everything we already have and looking for any similarities or common problems. Then I can put it all together in one big collection, and hopefully it’ll be useful for future Seers.’

‘Sounds interesting,’ said John. ‘Why Seers though?’

‘Well, Dean and I know this Seer. Her name’s Pamela, and when we met her, she told Dean he would fall in love with someone with blue eyes, isn’t that right, Dean?’

Dean was sitting opposite them. ‘Shut up, Sam,’ he said through a mouthful of sausage.

‘Anyway, Pamela’s super awesome, but she was having a vision one day and she saw something that made her go blind.’

John choked slightly on his porridge. ‘ _Blind?’_

‘Yeah. We don’t know what she saw, and she doesn’t remember, but now her powers are weird. She can only hear her visions now, so she has to guess what’s going on. Dean told me before that you nearly got lost in a prophetic trance too.’

John winced. He didn’t remember anything at all from his trance in the Shrieking Shack. Only the dizzying feeling of being somewhere else, far away, and Sherlock’s voice calling him back.

‘I don’t know if any of these things are preventable,’ Sam continued, ‘but I think Seers should at least know the risks so they can be prepared.’

‘Wow, yeah, that would be helpful.’

‘So I’m hoping that I can ask you some questions, if you don’t mind? Since your powers are so strong, the side-effects are much more pronounced, so they’ll be easier to document.’

John considered Sam’s excited face and glanced uncertainly at Dean.

‘Don’t look at me, man,’ he said.

‘I don’t know how much I can help, Sam. I’m not exactly good at it.’

‘But that’s exactly why you will be helpful,’ Sam said eagerly. ‘Most of what I can find is about fully realised Seers, and only from second-hand sources. Next to nothing is known about developing Seers, and I think it could be some of the most valuable information out there, especially for new Seers.’

John had to smile at his enthusiasm. ‘All right, ask away.’

‘Really? Awesome!’ Sam dropped some of his parchment on the floor in his excitement, and grabbed a quill and some ink out of his bag. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I only have a few questions for now, until I can talk to some other Seers. First of all, how often are you getting organic visions?’

‘Er- what?’

‘Visions that happen on their own, that you don’t force.’

‘Oh, er…’ John thought about it. ‘It varies really, but recently I’d say two or three times a week.’

Sam scribbled frantically. ‘Okay, when did you start experiencing symptoms and side-effects?’

‘I don’t actually know,’ John admitted. ‘I didn’t notice anything unusual for a long time. You’d probably be better off asking Sherlock that question.’

‘Interesting,’ Sam nodded, writing more notes. ‘Okay, I’ll rephrase the question: When did you first notice the symptoms, and more specifically, when did you realise they were connected?’

‘Let’s see… I think I started noticing something was off just before Christmas last year. I think I talked to Dean about it a bit. People started telling me I was a Seer just after Christmas, but I didn’t really believe it until that second time Sirius Black broke into Gryffindor Tower. I had a nosebleed just before and passed out in the common room.’

‘Cool. Last question for now, do you remember anything from your prophetic trance?’

‘No.’

‘Nothing?’

‘No, not at all.’

‘Awesome, thanks so much, John!’ Sam scooped up his parchment and dashed from the room, leaving John slightly bewildered.

Then, hysterical laughter erupted from several people at the Hufflepuff table. Heads all over the Hall turned to look at them.

A group of Hufflepuffs were clutching at each other, weak with laughter, and each holding a half-eaten chocolate biscuit. Gabriel, too, was laughing, though it seemed more as though he was laughing at them. They fell out of their seats onto the stone floor, still laughing, until Gabriel waved his wand over them. They climbed back into their seats, breathless but grinning, and put their biscuits down.

‘One of yours?’ John asked Fred.

‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Gabriel’s.’

‘You’re pulling my leg.’

‘Not at all,’ George said. ‘Ours usually have our own personal flair. We want everyone to know it was us.’

‘Gabriel is a master of making you believe it wasn’t him,’ Fred said. ‘Rule one, by the way, never eat anything Gabriel gives you.’

‘I wouldn’t have believed that of him.’

‘Exactly,’ said Fred. ‘Prefect, then Head Boy. The perfect cover. He’s an inspiration, really.’

‘Yeah, once he turned Mrs Norris invisible for a week. Filch was going spare when he couldn’t find her. Legendary,’ George said dreamily.

‘And the year before you lot joined, he managed to get itching powder into Snape’s robes. He was never even a suspect.’

‘Yeah, we only know it was him ‘cause he took our itching powder.’

‘Wow,’ said John, looking back over at Gabriel.

‘Probably a tickling charm on those,’ George noted, ‘or maybe a Cheering Charm.’

‘Bit tame, though, isn’t it?’ said Fred.

George shrugged. ‘It’s the first week back. Easing them into it.’

‘True.’

Gabriel looked over at them and winked.

John finished off his porridge, hoping the rest of his day would not be as strange as his breakfast.

 

Over the next few weeks, Harry spent most of his time worrying about Sirius, no matter how much John tried to reassure him that everything would be fine.

Castiel did return to lessons, and even Defence Against the Dark Arts, now that he knew what was coming.

Then, to their surprise, Professor Moody announced that he would be putting the Imperius Curse on each of them in turn, to demonstrate its power and see whether or not they could resist its effects.

‘But-but you said it’s illegal, Professor,’ Hermione said uncertainly, as Moody cleared away the desks with a sweep of his wand, leaving a large, clear space in the middle of the room. ‘You said – to use it against another human was-‘

‘Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like,’ said Moody, his magical eye swivelling onto Hermione. ‘If you’d rather learn the hard way – when someone’s putting it on you so they can control you completely – fine by me. You’re excused. Off you go.’

Hermione went very pink, and muttered something about not meaning that she wanted to leave.

Moody began beckoning students forward in turn and put the Imperius Curse on them. John watched apprehensively as, one by one, they did the most extraordinary things under its influence. Dean Thomas hopped three times around the room, singing the national anthem. Lavender imitated a squirrel. Neville performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics he certainly would not have been capable of in his normal state. Not one of them seemed to be able to fight off the curse, and each of them only recovered when Moody had removed it.

‘Watson,’ Moody growled, ‘you next.’

John stepped into the space Moody had cleared, his palms sweaty and his mouth dry.

Moody raised his wand and said, _‘Imperio.’_

It was a wonderful feeling, as if all his worries had floated away. He stood there, immensely relaxed and only vaguely aware that everyone was watching him. A loud buzzing briefly filled his head, and he flinched away from it, but then it was gone.

Then Moody’s voice echoed distantly in his mind. _Do a cartwheel._

He obliged without hesitation and executed a perfect cartwheel. Moody had him do it three more times until it was clear that he could not throw off the curse. He then felt the curse lift, however, he still felt strange. Though he was aware that something was wrong, he was unable to pull together enough thought to express the feeling. Instead, his mind remained weightless, and he stood in the middle of the room until Neville pulled him back into his seat. Everyone’s voices after that were muffled and distant, and try as he might, John just couldn’t concentrate on what they were saying. He shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of the mistiness in his brain, but to no avail.

Sherlock was already waiting outside and grabbed John by the shoulders when he exited the classroom. ‘What happened?’

John blinked and opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of any words to say.

‘Don’t worry about him.’ Moody had followed them out. ‘It’s rare, but considering everything going on with Watson here, not surprising. People react to the Imperius Curse differently, and sometimes the effects are slow to wear off. Best help him up to the hospital wing, so he doesn’t become a menace to himself.’

Sherlock did as instructed and guided John over to the hospital wing, where he sat in daze until he fell asleep with Sherlock beside him.

He was no worse for wear by the time he slept it off, and went back to being deeply amused by Professor Trelawney by their next Divination lesson. She gave Harry and Ron top marks for their homework and read out long excerpts, commending them for their acceptance of the horrors in store for them. John was slightly put out when he received low marks for his own work, but was distracted when he saw the Sagittarius constellation on the ceiling again. He hadn’t had a chance to visit the centaurs yet, since he and the other fourth-years had been getting noticeably more homework in preparation for their O.W.Ls. Even Hagrid was adding to their workload. The Blast-Ended Skrewts were growing at a remarkable pace, considering that no one had yet discovered what they ate. Hagrid was delighted and, as part of their ‘project’, suggested that they come down to his hut on alternate evenings to observe the Skrewts, and make notes on their extraordinary behaviour.

Sherlock and Castiel began struggling with their lessons. What was once Castiel’s favourite lesson had turned into a nightmare, having to face the living, unpredictable embodiment of his worst fear every time he went down to Hagrid’s hut. Sherlock, meanwhile, was insisting that Moody put him under the Imperius Curse every single lesson, despite not having once been able to throw it off. Both of them spent most days looking drawn and downcast.

‘Hey, you okay?’ Dean asked Cas one morning at breakfast.

Cas shrugged, miserably pushing his uneaten, soggy cereal around his bowl.

‘I get it, these lessons are tough, but you’re doing great,’ Dean said bracingly.

‘What do you mean?’ Cas said, looking up from his bowl.

‘Are you kidding? You hate the lessons but you keep going anyway. There’s no way I’d still be going if I were you. You have like… a strength I guess.’

Cas stared at Dean in surprise until Sam broke in.

‘What about me, Dean, do I have strength?’

‘Get lost, Sam,’ Dean muttered, shoving him away. Sam rolled his eyes, then Dean got up from his seat.

When he got out into the Entrance Hall, he found Harry, Ron and Hermione reading a large sign that had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase.

_Triwizard Tournament_

_The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o’clock on Friday 10 th of October. Lessons will end half an hour early. Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast._

‘Only a week away!’ said Ernie Macmillan, emerging from the Great Hall. ‘I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I’ll go tell him…’

‘Cedric?’ Ron said blankly as Ernie hurried away.

‘Diggory,’ said Harry. ‘He must be entering the Tournament.’

‘That idiot, Hogwarts champion?’ said Ron.

‘He’s not an idiot, you just don’t like him because he beat Gryffindor at Quidditch,’ said Hermione. ‘I’ve heard he’s a really good student.’

‘You only like him because he’s _handsome,’_ Ron said scathingly.

‘Excuse me, I don’t like people just because they’re handsome!’ Hermione said indignantly.

Ron gave a loud, fake cough that sounded oddly like ‘Lockhart’.

‘Come on, Ron, he’s not that bad,’ said Dean.

Ron glared at him.

‘What? He’s not!’

The appearance of the sign in the Entrance Hall had a marked effect on the inhabitants of the castle. During the following week, the Triwizard Tournament seemed to be the only topic of conversation flying around: who was going to try for Hogwarts champion, what the Tournament would involve, and how the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students might differ from them.

Castiel asked Gabriel if he was entering, and Gabriel laughed good-naturedly.

‘You’re good, Gabriel. You could win.’

‘That’s sweet of you, but there’s no way I’d beat out Cedric. The guy’s damn good. I should know, I share a dorm with him. Besides, I got enough to do since I’m Head Boy, don’t you think?’ He ruffled Cas’s hair, although he had to reach up to do so, then walked away.

Dean came up beside him. ‘Would have been interesting to see him as champion.’

‘Where did you get that?’ Cas said, spotting the brownie in his hand.

‘From Gabriel,’ Dean shrugged.

‘Dean, don’t-‘ but it was already too late, Dean had taken a bite.

‘What?’ Then Dean hiccupped.

Cas smiled. ‘Don’t eat things Gabriel gives you,’ he said, taking the brownie from Dean’s hand and incinerating it.

‘How – _hic –_ long will this – _hic –_ last?’

‘Usually only an hour or two, but since it’s Gabriel, perhaps up to a day, or so.’

‘A whole – _hic –_ day? But you – _hic –_ fix it – _hic –_ right?’

‘Don’t eat things Gabriel gives you,’ Cas repeated.

Throughout the week, the castle underwent a thorough cleaning, even the portraits and suits of armour receiving a scrubbing, and all the teachers became snappy and tense.

On the morning of the thirtieth of October, they all went down to find that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts house. There was a larger banner behind the teachers’ table that bore the Hogwarts coat of arms. John and Sherlock were the first down to breakfast.

‘What?’ said Sherlock, as John squinted at him over his bowl of cereal.

‘It still isn’t working, you know,’ John said. ‘I can’t feel you. Maybe I’m doing it wrong. How do you do it?’

Sherlock shrugged. ‘It’s not a conscious decision most of the time. I’d describe it as being like listening but with your mind.’

‘Well, at least you’re listening with something. You certainly don’t do that with your ears,’ John teased.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, amused.

‘Looking forward to tonight, then?’ John asked.

‘Not especially.’

‘Why not? Bit of a change of pace, isn’t it? I thought you’d like that.’

‘Yes, but it also means the teachers are trying to show off. Professor McGonagall actually made me Transfigure a porcupine the other day.’

‘Unbelievable. I can’t believe a teacher would actually make you participate in a lesson. McGonagall is just so unreasonable.’

‘You know, I think you’ve fulfilled your sarcasm quota for the day.’

‘You just make it so easy,’ John smirked.

‘Whatever entertains you, John.’

There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air that day. No one was particularly attentive in lessons.

When the bell rang early, they all hurried up to their dormitories to dump their bags and pick up their cloaks, then rushed back to the Entrance Hall.

The Heads of houses were ordering students into lines.

‘Weasley, straighten your hat,’ Professor McGonagall snapped at Ron. ‘Now everyone, follow me, please. First-years in front… no pushing…’

They filed down the front steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale, transparent-looking moon was already shining over the Forest. John felt himself being drawn towards the trees, as did Sherlock.

‘Nearly six,’ Ron muttered, standing next to John. ‘How do you reckon they’re coming? The train?’

‘I doubt it,’ Hermione said on John’s other side.

‘How then? Broomsticks?’

‘I don’t think so… not from that far away…’

‘A Portkey?’ Ron suggested. ‘Or they could Apparate – maybe you’re allowed to do it under seventeen wherever they come from?’

‘You can’t Apparate inside Hogwarts grounds, how often do I have to tell you?’ Hermione said impatiently.

‘Okay, that’s it.’ John grabbed Ron and swapped places with him, so he and Hermione could bicker quietly.

Then Dumbledore called out from the back row, where he stood with the other teachers. ‘Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!’

‘Where?’ several students said eagerly, all looking in different directions.

‘ _There!’_ yelled a sixth-year, pointing over the Forest.

Something large, much larger than a broomstick – or even a hundred broomsticks – was hurtling across the deep blue sky, growing larger by the second.

‘It’s a dragon!’ shrieked one of the first-years, losing her head completely.

‘Don’t be stupid… it’s a flying house!’ said Dennis Creevey.

Dennis’s guess was closer. As the giant black shape flew over the Forest, the light from the castle windows hit it, and revealed it to be a gigantic, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house.

It soared towards them, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant. It landed with an almighty crash and the horses’ hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. The door of the carriage bore the Beauxbatons coat of arms, a pair of golden, crossed wands, each emitting three stars. The door opened and a boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage. He bent forwards, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully, then a shining, high-heeled shoe the size of a child’s sled emerged from the carriage, followed by the largest woman they’d ever seen. The size of the carriage and the horses was immediately explained. As she stepped into the light flooding from the Entrance Hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face and large, black, liquid-looking eyes. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.

Dumbledore started to clap, then several students followed his lead.

The woman’s face relaxed into a gracious smile, and she walked towards Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Though tall himself, Dumbledore barely had to bend to kiss her hand.

‘My dear Madame Maxime,’ he said. ‘Welcome to Hogwarts.’

‘Dumbly-dorr,’ said Madame Maxime. ‘I ‘ope I find you well?’

‘On excellent form, I thank you,’ said Dumbledore.

‘My pupils,’ she said, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her.

About a dozen boys and girls – all, by the look of them, in their late teens – had stepped down from the carriage and were now standing behind Madame Maxime. They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were wearing cloaks. A few of them had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads.

‘’As Karkaroff arrived yet?’ asked Madame Maxime.

‘He should be here any moment,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Would you like to wait here and greet him, or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?’

‘Warm up, I think. But ze ‘orses-‘

‘Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them, the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen from some of his other – er – charges.’

‘My steeds require forceful ‘andling,’ said Madame Maxime, looking as though she doubted whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. ‘Zey are very strong…’

‘I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job,’ Dumbledore smiled.

‘Very well,’ said Madame Maxime, ‘will you please inform zis ‘Agrid zat ze ‘orses drink only single malt whiskey?’

‘It will be attended to,’ said Dumbledore, bowing.

‘Come,’ she said imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps.

‘I wonder how Durmstrang are getting here,’ Sherlock murmured.

‘In something unnecessarily ostentatious I assume,’ said Castiel, teeth chattering. ‘I hope they’re here soon. It’s cold.’

‘I’m sure they won’t be long.’

Just then, an oddly eerie noise drifted towards them, a muffled rumbling and sucking sound.

‘The lake!’ yelled Lee Jordan, pointing down at it. ‘Look at the lake!’

From their position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, they had a clear view of the suddenly tumultuous waters. There was a disturbance taking place deep in the centre. A whirlpool had appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake floor.

Slowly, a ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight, and glided towards the bank. A few moments later, they heard the splash of the anchor being thrown out, and the thud of a plank on the bank.

The people on board disembarked and walked up the lawns, all of them wearing bulky cloaks of shaggy, matted fur. However, the man leading them up to the castle was different, wearing fur that was sleek and silver, like his hair.

‘Dumbledore!’ he called, as he walked up the slope. ‘How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?’

‘Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,’ Dumbledore replied.

Karkaroff was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and his goatee did not entirely hide his weak chin.

‘Dear old Hogwarts,’ he said, looking up at the castle. ‘How good it is to be here, how good… Vikto, come along, into the warmth… you don’t mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold…’

Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students and John was shocked to see the curved nose and thick black eyebrows of Viktor Krum. _­_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to Pepipanda and hhhelcat for the awesome comments!  
> See you all again in two weeks.


	14. The Goblet of Fire

The Goblet of Fire

‘I don’t believe it!’ John heard Ron say in a stunned voice as they filed back up the steps into the castle. ‘Viktor Krum!’

‘For heaven’s sake, Ron he’s only a Quidditch player,’ said Hermione.

 _‘Only a Quidditch player?’_ Ron said, looking as though he couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Hermione, he’s one of the best Seekers in the world! I had no idea he was still at school!’

Ron wasn’t the only one that was startstruck. As they crossed back through the Entrance Hall, they saw several people standing on their toes, or jumping up and down to get a glimpse of Krum. A group of sixth-year girls were frantically searching their pockets as they walked - ‘Oh, I don’t believe it, I haven’t got a single quill on me… D’you think he’d sign my hat in lipstick?’

 _‘Really,’_ Hermione said loftily as they passed the girls, now squabbling over lipstick.

‘ _I’m_ getting an autograph, if I can,’ said Ron, ‘you haven’t got a quill, have you, Harry?’

‘Nope, they’re upstairs in my bag,’ said Harry.

‘Has anyone got one? Sherlock?’

‘When was the last time you saw me with a quill?’

‘You don’t have any quills at all?’ said Hermione. ‘But how do you take notes?’

‘I don’t.’

‘But what if you needed them?’

‘I wouldn’t.’

‘But say if you did.’

Sherlock rolled his eyes. ‘Then I would do what everyone else does and read Castiel’s.’

Hermione looked scandalised, but couldn’t say anything more, as they were separated back into their houses upon entry to the Great Hall.

The Hogwarts students all sat down at their House tables. The Beauxbatons students had already chosen seats at the Ravenclaw table, and they were all looking around the Hall with glum expressions. Three of them were still clutching scarves and shawls around their heads.

‘It’s not _that_ cold,’ Hermione said irritably. ‘Why didn’t they bring cloaks?’

Viktor Krum and the other Durmstrang students had dithered at the entrance, but eventually settled at the Slytherin table, much to Ron’s disappointment. They already looked more relaxed than the Beauxbatons students, taking off their furs to reveal deep red robes, and examining all the golden tableware, impressed.

Up at the staff table, Filch was adding more chairs, wearing his mouldy old tailcoat in honour of the occasion.

‘But there are only two extra people,’ said Harry. ‘Why’s Filch putting out four chairs? Who else is coming?’

‘What?’ said John, who had been watching Sherlock sitting uncomfortably next to the Beauxbatons girls. He looked up at the staff table just as the teachers entered to take their seats. Last inside were Professor Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime. When their Headmistress appeared, the pupils from Beauxbatons leapt to their feet, the girl sitting next to Sherlock accidentally knocking him in the head as she did so. John bit back his amusement at the disgusted look Sherlock gave her, then turned his attention back to the staff table once everyone except Professor Dumbledore had sat down. John squinted at the empty chairs. He could see two shadowy figures sitting in them, but couldn’t quite work out who they were, though they seemed familiar.

A silence then fell over the Great Hall and Dumbledore began to speak.

‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts, and - most particularly - guests,’ he said, beaming around at the foreign students. ‘I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.’

The girl next to Sherlock laughed derisively and Sherlock tutted at her loudly.

‘The Tournament will be officially opened at the end of this feast,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourself at home!’ Then he sat down.

The dishes in front of them filled with food as usual. The house-elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of them, several of which were definitely foreign.

The heat from the freshly cooked food swiftly warmed the room, so the Beauxbatons girls finally took off their scarves and mufflers. When the girl next to Sherlock took hers off, a sheet of silvery blonde hair cascaded out, catching the eye of nearly every boy in the vicinity. Sherlock got quite irritated at all the people staring in their direction, to the point that John laughed at him from across the room. He rolled his eyes and John winked, causing his cheeks to turn slightly to pink.

‘She certainly seems to be attracting attention,’ Castiel muttered on Sherlock’s other side.

‘I think she’s part Veela,’ Sherlock whispered back. ‘You can tell by the hair.’

‘You’re not affected by Veela,’ Cas said softly.

‘Neither are you,’ Sherlock countered.

Neither of them said anything else until the blonde girl leaned over and scanned the table.

‘ _Que cherchez-vous?’_ Cas said to her.

She looked slightly surprised, then said, ‘ _Je cherche de la bouillabaise, en vois-tu?’_

Cas looked around the room. ‘ _Il y a un bol près de la tête rouge,’_ he told her, gesturing at the Gryffindor table.

‘ _Q_ _uelle tête rouge?’_ she said.

Castiel smiled. ‘ _Désolé, à côté du grand garçon roux,’_ he told her, pointing at Ron.

‘ _Oh, je vois, merci.’_ She got up and went over to Ron, then returned carefully carrying a dish. Once she had sat down, she continued to chat happily to Castiel, annoying Sherlock, who was sitting between them.

‘ _Je suis toujours là, tu sais!’_ Sherlock eventually broke in.

‘Sorry, Sherlock, would you like to switch seats?’ Cas said.

‘ _S’il-te-plait.'_

Meanwhile, John was laughing at Ron, who was still staring at the blonde girl.

‘They don’t make them like that at Hogwarts,’ Ron groaned.

‘They make them okay at Hogwarts,’ Harry said without thinking, catching sight of Cho Chang.

John laughed even harder at them, until Neville caught his eye and he stopped, clearing his throat.

‘When you’ve put your eyes back in,’ Hermione said briskly, ‘you’ll see who’s just arrived.’ She pointed up at the staff table.

The two remaining seats had been filled by Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch.

‘What are they doing here?’ Harry asked, surprised.

‘They organised the Triwizard Tournament, didn’t they?’ said Hermione. ‘I suppose they wanted to be here to see it start.’

When the desserts arrived, there were again a number of unfamiliar dishes, but soon enough, the golden dishes were cleared, and Dumbledore was on his feet again.

‘The moment has come,’ Dumbledore said, smiling around at them. ‘The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring out the casket, just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But firstly, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation, and Mr Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.’

There was a polite round of applause for the both of them.

‘Mr Bagman and Mr Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament,’ Dumbledore continued, ‘and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime on the panel which will judge the champions’ efforts.’

At the mention of the word ‘champions’, the attentiveness of the students sharpened.

Dumbledore seemed to notice their sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, ‘The casket, then, if you please, Mr Filch.’

Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in the far corner of the Hall, now approached Dumbledore, carrying a wooden chest, encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old.

‘The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have been examined by Mr Crouch and Mr Bagman, and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge,’ said Dumbledore, as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him. ‘There will be three tasks, spread throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways… their magical prowess, their daring, their powers of deduction, and, of course, their ability to cope with danger.

‘As you know, three champions compete in the Tournament, one each from participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tests and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector… the Goblet of Fire.’

Dumbledore took out his wand, and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it, and pulled out a large, roughly hewn cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable, had it not been full to the brim with dancing, blue-white flames.

At the sight of it, John suddenly took in a sharp breath as he was suddenly bombarded by hundreds of names and faces flashing before his eyes. Completely caught by surprise, John was unable to fight it off, and could only wait until it was over. Though it felt like it had taken several minutes, when he came out of it, it appeared to have only been a few seconds. He was grateful, too, that everyone was so focused on Dumbledore, and the only people that had noticed anything were Hermione, Neville and Sherlock, who all gave him concerned looks.

He shook his head, feeling his stomach churn with nausea, along with the usual sweating and shaking.

Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the Goblet carefully on top of it, where it was clearly visible to everyone.

‘Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment, and drop it into the Goblet,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Hallowe’en, the Goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The Goblet will be place in the Entrance Hall tonight, where it will be fully accessible to all those wishing to compete.

‘To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation, I will be drawing the Age Line around the Goblet once it has been placed. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.

‘Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this Tournament is not to be entered lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, they are obliged to see the Tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the Goblet constitutes a binding magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are whole-heartedly prepared to play, before you drop your name in the Goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Goodnight to you all.’

‘What was that?’ Sherlock asked John, meeting up with him on the other side of the Hall.

‘Names and faces,’ said John, rubbing his eyes, feeling light-headed.

They bumped into a crowd at the entrance and John stood on his toes, trying to see what was going on.

‘Professor Karkaroff is talking to Harry and Professor Moody,’ Castiel said, tall enough to see over the majority of the crowd. ‘He’s leaving now, though.’

Soon enough, Sherlock, John, Cas and Dean were through the doors and climbing the marble staircase.

‘Previous champions,’ said Sherlock as they climbed.

‘What?’

‘I think you saw previous champion of the Tournament, since you were looking at the Goblet when it happened.’

‘Makes sense.’

‘But what’s the significance?’ Sherlock pondered.

‘Who says there’s a significance?’ John pointed out.

Sherlock shrugged.

Once they reached the silver swan portrait, Castiel said goodnight and went through it, but Sherlock hesitated. ‘I don’t have to stay in Ravenclaw Tower tonight, I could come up-’

‘No, no, it’s fine,’ John said hastily, cheeks burning, hyper-aware that Dean was waiting behind them.

‘Oh. All right. Goodnight, John, Dean.’ He nodded curtly and went through the portrait without waiting for their response.

Dean seemed not to have noticed anything, however, and talked to John excitedly as they continued on to Gryffindor Tower.

 

The next morning, everyone was up early and hurried down to the Entrance Hall. There were already about twenty people milling around, examining the Goblet of Fire.

Sam was already there when John came down, sitting against a wall with a stack of parchment.

‘What’s all this?’ John asked, going over to him.

He looked up, excitement all over his face, as well as splodges of ink. ‘I’m just reading through some of these responses,’ he said. ‘It’s really interesting.’

‘These are all letters from other Seers?’ John said in surprise. There must have been about twenty of them. ‘How did you even find this many?’

‘Actually, a lot of them wrote to me first,’ Sam said enthusiastically. ‘And I knew a few from Pamela. Lots of them know about you too.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, they say they’ve seen you. A bunch of them are wishing you well.’

‘Wow. Can I…?’ He indicated at the pile of letters.

‘Yeah, yeah, sure.’ He picked up the pile and handed it to John.

As soon as the parchment touched his fingers, a swirl of many different emotions shot through him. He gasped and dropped the letters. It stopped as soon as he dropped them, and he blinked at the mess he’d made of Sam’s papers.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said.

‘Don’t be,’ said Sam, gathering them back up. ‘What happened?’

‘I - er - I’m not sure. Have you seen Sherlock?’

‘Hey, John, I need you to focus, okay?’ Sam said gently. ‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know, I just touched it and…’

‘And what?’ Sam had pulled out a quill and fresh parchment.

‘Erm, it was just a lot of feelings, sort of all at once.’

‘That’s really interesting… Here, try one at a time.’ He handed John one of the letters.

He held it for a moment and a warm happiness and optimism spread from his fingertips.

‘What does that feel like?’ Sam asked.

‘Happy, I think.’

‘Okay, how about this one?’ Sam swapped the letter and John winced as the optimism was suddenly replaced by an overwhelming rage.

He quickly gave it back to Sam. ‘That felt angry. Really angry.’

‘This is so cool,’ Sam said. ‘It looks like you can tell what people are feeling through their letters. That’s amazing, John, I don’t think anyone else can do that. I gotta go write some of this down, see ya.’ Sam gathered everything up and hurried away, leaving John preoccupied with his thoughts and feeling strangely alone.

‘Where’ve you been,’ John snapped when Sherlock finally appeared in the Entrance Hall.

‘I-’

‘You know what, I don’t care.’ He stormed off into the Great Hall.

Sherlock watched him go, then switched his attention to the Goblet of Fire. Harry, Ron, Hermione and Dean were off to the side of the room, talking together.

‘Has anyone put their name in yet?’ Sherlock asked them.

‘The Durmstrang lot,’ said Ron. ‘None from Hogwarts yet.’

‘I bet some of them put it in last night after we’d all gone to bed,’ said Harry. ‘I would’ve if it was me.’

‘Yeah, wouldn’t want everyone watching if it just spat you back out again,’ Dean laughed.

‘Would you enter if you were old enough?’ Harry asked him curiously.

‘Nah, not me. I’ve seen enough trouble; don’t need to be judged on it.’

Just then, a laugh rang out behind them, and they turned to see Fred, George and Lee Jordan hurrying down the staircase, looking extremely excited.

‘Done it,’ Fred said to them in a triumphant whisper. ‘Just taken it.’

‘What?’ said Ron.

‘The Ageing Potion, dungbrain,’ said Fred.

‘One drop each,’ said George. ‘We only need to be a few months older.’

‘I’m not sure this is going to work, you know,’ Hermione said warningly. ‘I’m sure Dumbledore will have thought of this.’

Fred, George and Lee ignored her.

‘Ready?’ said Fred to the other two, quivering with excitement. ‘C’mon, then - I’ll go first-’

‘Do you think this’ll work?’ Dean said quietly to Sherlock.

‘Absolutely not,’ Sherlock replied, watching Fred step right up to the edge of the thin, gold Age Line, a scrap of parchment in his hand.

‘You gonna tell ‘em?’

‘No. I want to see what happens.’

‘Fair enough,’ Dean chuckled.

Fred took a deep breath, every eye in the Entrance Hall on him, and stepped over the line. For a split second it looked as if it had worked. George certainly thought so, for he let out an excited yell and leapt after Fred - but next moment, there was a loud sizzling sound, and both twins were hurled out of the circle. They landed painfully on the cold stone floor, then there was a popping noise, and both of them sprouted identical, long white beards.

The Entrance Hall rang with laughter, Dean grabbing hold of Sherlock to keep himself up.

‘I did warn you,’ said a deep, amused voice, and everyone turned to see Dumbledore coming out of the Great Hall. ‘I suggest you both go up to the hospital wing. Castiel is getting quite adept at removing beards, having already tended to Miss Fawcett and Mr Summers this morning. Though I must say, neither of their beards were anything like as fine as yours.’

Fred and George set off for the hospital wing, followed by Lee, howling with laughter, and Dean, who decided to go and visit Cas.

Sherlock went into the Great Hall to get John, and squeezed his shoulder.

‘What?’ John said shortly.

‘Come and take a walk with me.’

‘Why?’

‘John.’

‘Fine.’ John got up and walked out into the grounds with Sherlock, pausing to take a deep breath of fresh air. ‘Where do you want to go?’

‘The lake. It’s quiet.’

They walked in silence at first, until they reached the lake and the shadow of the Durmstrang ship.

‘I could list all of the species currently residing in the lake,’ Sherlock said in a feeble attempt at breaking the tension.

‘I’m sure that’ll come in handy,’ John said, a little more snippily than he had intended. ‘What are we doing out here, Sherlock?’

‘I wanted somewhere quiet to talk to you.’

John’s heart leapt. ‘About what?’

‘You’ve been different lately.’

‘Of course I have. These powers don’t come without a price,’ John said, descending back into his bad mood.

‘What kind of price?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ John made to go back into the castle, but Sherlock caught his arm.

‘We’ll talk about something else. Just walk with me, please?’

John sighed. ‘Fine.’

They began to make a lap around the lake. Sherlock eventually did launch into a list of the lake species’ and their magical properties. He seemed quite happy to talk about that, so John listened in silence, not really taking in much, until they were almost back to where they had started.

‘Talk to me, John,’ said Sherlock, stopping suddenly. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

‘You already know. You can see inside my head, remember?’ John said bitterly.

‘Not all the time. I want to hear it from you.’

‘Why do you even care? Surely you have better things to worry about than my feelings?’

‘I don’t.’

For a moment, they stood looking at each other.

‘I’m meant to help you,’ Sherlock continued eventually. ‘I’m here. For anything.’

John reluctantly opened his mouth. ‘It’s so hard,’ he admitted, shaking his head. ‘You should have been the Seer, not me. I’m not - I’m not smart enough.’

‘John-’

‘You don’t understand, Sherlock. Sam got all these letters from loads of other Seers, and so many of them think I’m supposed to be something special, but I’m not. I’m not any good at it, and nothing I see is ever of any use.’

‘You just need more practice-’

‘That’s what I mean! You wouldn’t have needed practice. You’d know what the hell it is you’re meant to be looking at.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Sherlock. ‘I am good at discerning the facts, but that is all. It’s no secret that I find emotions baffling for the most part, and I suspect being able to understand emotion is a key aspect of it.’

‘You think so?’

‘I do.’

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’m just- I don’t know… I’m the only one with this kind of power…’

Then, to John’s surprise, Sherlock pulled him into a hug.

‘You’re not alone. I’m here. All of your friends are here. You only need to ask.’

‘Thanks, Sherlock,’ John whispered, pulling away slightly.

‘You don’t need to worry so much.’

John smiled weakly, and looked at Sherlock’s face, which seemed a little too close. Close enough that John could see little green flecks in his otherwise clear eyes, and a small freckle on the corner of Sherlock’s mouth. He felt himself inexplicably drawn closer, but then a movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he backed away. He looked at what had distracted him, and saw Cas and Dean heading down to Hagrid’s.

‘Lunch with Hagrid?’ John suggested, clearing his throat.

‘After you,’ said Sherlock. He sighed quietly so that John didn’t hear, then followed him to Hagrid’s.

When they got there, they found the others picking at what Hagrid called a beef casserole, but declined to have some when Hermione unearthed a large claw from hers.

They did notice that Hagrid was dressed particularly horrendously, in a hairy brown suit and an orange and yellow checked tie. His hair had been slicked down into two bunches by what looked like axle grease.

‘Looking good, Hagrid,’ Dean grinned. ‘What’s the occasion?’

‘Jus’ felt like a change,’ said Hagrid, blushing slightly.

They spent most of the day chatting with Hagrid, until around half-past five, when it began growing dark.

‘We should get going,’ said John, checking his watch. ‘The feast starts soon.’

‘I’ll come with yeh,’ said Hagrid. ‘Jus’ give us a sec.’

Hagrid got up, went across to the chest of drawers beside his bed and started searching for something inside it. They didn’t pay too much attention, until a truly horrible smell reached their nostrils.

‘Hagrid, what the hell is that?’ Dean choked.

‘Eh?’ said Hagrid, turning around with a large bottle in his hand. ‘Don’ yeh like it?’

‘What is it?’ John said, coughing slightly.

‘Er- cologne,’ Hagrid muttered. ‘Maybe it’s a bit much.’

‘Maybe just a little,’ said Cas, eyes watering.

‘I’ll go take it off, hang on…’

He stumped out of the cabin, and they saw him scrubbing himself vigorously in the water barrel outside.

‘Cologne?’ Hermione said in amazement. _‘Hagrid?’_

‘And what’s with the hair and the suit?’ said Harry in an undertone.

‘That’s easy,’ said Dean. ‘He likes someone.’

‘Like who?’ Ron said, shocked.

‘I don’t know, Ron, maybe if you think about it for a minute, it’ll come to you,’ said Sherlock, rolling his eyes.

‘Look,’ said Cas, pointing out of the window.

Hagrid had straightened up and turned around. If he had been blushing before, it was nothing compared to what he was doing now. They peered cautiously through the window and saw that Madame Maxime and the Beauxbatons students had just emerged from their carriage. They couldn’t hear what Hagrid was saying, but he was talking to Madame Maxime with a rapt, misty-eyed expression. A look of comprehension dawned on Ron’s face, and Sherlock rolled his eyes again.

‘He’s going up to the castle with her!’ Hermione said indignantly. ‘I thought he was waiting for us.’

Without so much as a backward glance at his cabin, Hagrid went trudging up the grounds with Madame Maxime, the Beauxbatons students jogging to keep up with their enormous strides.

‘Well, if they end up having children, they’ll be setting a world record,’ said Ron. ‘Bet any baby of theirs would weigh about a ton.’

They let themselves out of the cabin and shut the door behind them. As they walked up, the Durmstrang students disembarked their ship and entered the castle ahead of them.

When they entered the candlelit Great Hall it was almost full. The Goblet of Fire had been moved; it was now sitting on the top table in front of Dumbledore’s empty seat.

Fred and George - clean shaven again - seemed to have taken their disappointment fairly well.

‘Hope it’s Angelina,’ said Fred, as they sat down at the Gryffindor table.

Sherlock and Castiel again sat with the blonde Beauxbatons girl at the Ravenclaw table. It seemed she had been saving them seats.

‘Oh, Angelina entered?’ said Hermione.

‘Yeah, this morning.’

‘Well, we’ll soon know.’

The Hallowe’en feast seemed to take much longer than usual. Perhaps because it was their second feast in two days, or perhaps because no one wanted to wait any longer for the champions to be revealed.

At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state, and the noise died away when Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime were looking tense and expectant. Ludo Bagman was beaming around, but Barty Crouch looked completely uninterested, almost bored.

‘The Goblet is almost ready to make its decision,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber-’ He indicated the door behind the staff table, ‘- where they will be receiving their first instructions.’

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it, extinguishing all the candles in the room. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything else in the Hall, the blue-white flames almost painful on the eyes.

As darkness descended, so too did a terrible, black dread that settled on John’s chest. His heart rate shot up and his whole body began to tremble.

Hermione was sitting across from him and saw him turn ghostly white. Her own expression dropped from that of excitement to deep concern. ‘What’s wrong?’ she whispered.

But John couldn’t answer, his voice refusing to rise past a large lump in his throat.

Sherlock was too agitated by this to remain seated and scrambled over to John, ignoring all the stares and hissed commands from the Prefects. The teachers watched him go, but couldn’t stop him either. Dean shuffled over to make room for him next to John.

‘Tell me,’ he whispered.

But then the flames inside the Goblet turned suddenly red, and John shuddered violently as a tongue of flame shot into the air. A charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it, which Dumbledore caught. The flames turned back to blue-white.

‘The champion for Durmstrang,’ said Dumbledore, ‘will be Viktor Krum.’

The Hall burst into applause and Viktor Krum rose from the Slytherin table.

Sherlock took advantage of the noise. ‘Don’t let it control you,’ he said to John. ‘It’s your power. _You_ control _it.’_

 _‘_ I can’t,’ John finally forced out hoarsely. ‘Everyone’s looking at me.’ He shuddered as another piece of parchment shot out.

‘The champion for Beauxbatons,’ said Dumbledore, ‘is Fleur Delacour!’

The blonde girl that had been sitting with Castiel stood up and walked gracefully to the staff table, shaking her hair out as she stood.

Sherlock turned John to face him. ‘No one’s looking at you. It’s just me.’

At the Hufflepuff table, Sam stood up, but Gabriel pulled him down again.

John tried to take a deep breath, but felt worse when he was unable.

‘You can do it,’ Sherlock said softly.

The Goblet turned red once more, causing John to be wracked with tremors again, and the name of the Hogwarts champion shot out.

‘The Hogwarts champion,’ Dumbledore called out, ‘is Cedric Diggory!’

The uproar from the Hufflepuff table was incredible. Every single one of them had jumped to their feet, screaming and stomping.

‘Look at me, John,’ Sherlock said. ‘I’m here. Just focus.’

John balled up his fists and tried to see past the fog in his mind, but it was no good. It was as if a wall had been put up and he had no way through it.

The Goblet turned red once again and the Hall fell silent in shock. A fourth piece of parchment shot out of the Goblet and Dumbledore reached out for it. He looked at it and just as he read out, ‘ _Harry Potter!’_ John lost his battle and passed out, Sherlock and Dean catching him before he hit the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, what's up guys, welcome back! Thanks to hhhelcat for the comment!  
> Sorry I missed a week, I was in hospital for a little while, but don't worry, everything's fine now! The schedule's back to normal, so I'll see you all again in two weeks.
> 
> Oh, and I'm only just learning French, so it's still a little shaky. Feel free to correct any mistakes if you notice them.


	15. The Four Champions

The first thing John heard when he came around was a loud buzzing, filling the Hall, then Sherlock’s voice whispering, ‘It’s all right, John.’

Dean was holding him up, and everyone else was too busy staring at Harry to notice that anything else was going on. He sat up slowly, feeling extremely nauseous, and his head felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton.

‘What’s going on?’ he said, slurring slightly.

Then the room exploded with sound moments later, as Harry disappeared into the door behind the top table, along with most of the teachers. Several people ran between tables, including Castiel and Sam.

‘Harry’s name came out of the Goblet,’ Sherlock whispered to John.

‘How?’

‘That’s what we would like to know,’ said Dean.

‘Well, obviously it wasn’t Harry,’ said Sam. ‘Seriously, did you see the look on his face?’

‘No one’s saying it was him,’ said Dean.

‘That’s probably not quite true,’ Hermione said, glancing around the room. ‘I bet a fair few people are saying it was him.’

‘Who cares what they think? We all know it wasn’t him.’

Ron abruptly stood up and stomped out of the room.

‘What’s eating him?’ said Dean.

Sam shrugged.

With no guidance from the teachers, Gabriel and the Head Girl began chivvying the Hogwarts students out of the Hall.

John got up unsteadily and made to follow, but Sherlock started dragging him up towards the staff table.

‘Sherlock, what-?’

‘We need to know what happened. You need to see the Goblet, so we have to go in there.’

‘Wait, but-‘

‘But what?’ Sherlock whirled around and John’s words died in his throat. Sherlock was extremely agitated and unable to stand still. ‘It- it’s your head, it’s – chaos, and I can feel it. So we’re going to fix this.’

John didn’t argue any further and allowed Sherlock to pull him into the chamber.

No one saw them at first and they entered just as Fleur said, ‘Why should ‘e complain? ‘E ‘as ze chance to compete! We ‘ave all been ‘oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honour for our schools! A thousand Galleons prize money – zis is a chance many would die for!’

‘Maybe someone’s hoping Potter _is_ going to die for it,’ said Moody.

An extremely tense silence followed these words.

‘Moody, old man,’ Bagman said nervously. ‘What a thing to say!’

At his words, John was reminded that he and Mr Crouch were both Ministry officials, and found himself reluctant to demonstrate. It seemed that Sherlock too had realised this, and the two of them remained in the shadowy entrance.

‘We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn’t discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime,’ Karkaroff said loudly. ‘Apparently, he is now teaching his students to fear assassination, too. An odd quality in a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but I’m sure you had your reasons.’

‘Imagining things, am I?’ growled Moody. ‘Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put the boy’s name in that Goblet…’

‘Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?’ said Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands.

‘Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!’ said Moody. ‘It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that Goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the Tournament… I’m guessing they submitted Potter’s name under a fourth school, to make sure he was the only one in his category…’

‘You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody,’ Karkaroff said coldly, ‘and a very ingenious theory it is – though, of course, I heard that you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realising it was a carriage clock. So you’ll understand if we don’t take you entirely seriously…’

‘There are those who’ll turn innocent occasions to their advantage,’ Moody retorted in a menacing voice. ‘It’s my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff, as you ought to remember-‘

‘Alastor!’ Dumbledore said warningly.

Moody shrugged. ‘However it happened, I’m sure Watson over there can help clear it up.’

John jumped, then silently berated himself for forgetting about the magical properties of Moody’s eye.

Everyone turned to look at them, so Sherlock urged John forward.

‘Hello,’ he said nervously.

‘Are you sure about this, John?’ Dumbledore asked gently.

‘Not really,’ John replied.

‘’Ow is zis boy supposed to ‘elp us?’ said Madame Maxime.

Dumbledore watched John patiently.

John took a deep breath, then said, ‘I’m a Seer.’

There were noises of surprise from almost everyone gathered.

‘We were never informed of this!’ Karkaroff blustered. ‘How much of an advantage are you trying to give Hogwarts, here, Dumbledore?’

‘Oh, please,’ said Madame Maxime. ‘Who’s to say ‘e is even telling ze truth?’

‘I am,’ Dumbledore said firmly.

‘If zat is ze case, then I am sadly disappointed in zis deception.’

‘Rest assured, Madame, that this is not a reflection upon our Ministry,’ said Mr Crouch, glaring daggers at John. ‘We knew nothing of this.’

‘It was not for us to say. It was John’s decision alone,’ Dumbledore said with a slight edge to his voice. ‘There is nothing in the law that states Seers must notify the Ministry of their existence.’

‘I – erm – I wanted to – ‘ John’s mouth was suddenly dry, and he felt very small under the gaze of everyone in the room.’

‘He didn’t want to have to prove himself to anyone,’ Sherlock piped up. ‘Especially not to the likes of the Ministry.’

‘Holmes, control yourself,’ Professor McGonagall snapped.

‘No thank you, Professor. Now, let’s get on with this. Where’s the Goblet?’

Dumbledore directed them over to the fireplace, where the Goblet sat, unassuming, on a small table. The fire had now gone out, so the Goblet looked as ordinary as any other.

John approached it and crouched beside it, concentrated hard. He stared intently, but nothing happened. He blinked, shook his head and tried again. Still nothing. Not even greyness or a flickering image. Just nothing. A fluttering panic rose in his stomach.

‘Try touching it,’ Sherlock suggested quietly.

John nodded and put his hands on either side of the Goblet. It was surprisingly cool to the touch, considering it had only been minutes since it had been full to the brim with flames. It was also quite smooth, but even with his hands clasped tightly around it, John saw nothing.

‘I – I don’t understand,’ he muttered.

‘Fine,’ said Sherlock. ‘Maybe we can’t see what happened with the Goblet, but we can prove it wasn’t Harry.’

‘Okay.’ John stood and turned around. ‘Do you mind?’ he said to Harry.

‘Go for it,’ Harry said faintly.

John put one hand on Harry’s shoulder and thought back to when the Goblet was revealed, and watched Harry up until the feast. He then dropped his hands and slumped heavily. ‘Er – Harry went to bed after the feast last night and fell asleep around midnight. He woke up at eight this morning and spent the morning with Ron and Hermione, then the rest of the day with Hagrid. He didn’t put his name in.’

Harry gave him a grateful look, but no one else looked convinced.

‘How is that supposed to prove anything?’ Snape sneered. ‘Potter and Watson are good friends, they could easily be covering for each other.’

‘You’re absolutely right, Professor,’ Sherlock said, in an overly cheery voice that made John cringe. ‘Would anyone else care to let John see what they did last night? Any volunteers?’ Sherlock spun around to get a good look at everyone. ‘Madame Maxime, perhaps? Or how about you, Professor Karakroff?’ A silence where everyone refused to meet his eyes followed. ‘No one? Really?’

‘I’ll do it.’ Cedric Diggory stepped forward.

‘Okay,’ said John. He bit his lips and wrung his hands slightly. Fatigue was already creeping up on him, but he put a hand on Cedric’s arm anyway. Before seeing anything, John felt nervousness and immense pressure coming from him. Dizzy and exhausted, he lost control of his vision and fell into it completely.

When he landed, he found himself in what he assumed was the Hufflepuff boys’ dormitory. He was standing beside Cedric, who was sitting on his bed, and Gabriel was sitting on his own bed across from them.

‘What’s the deal?’ Gabriel was saying. ‘There isn’t anyone that has a better chance of getting in than you.’

‘You say that, Gabe, but I don’t see it,’ said Cedric.

‘You’re kidding, right? Look at you, you’re Quidditch captain-‘

‘Yeah, and? You’re Head Boy, why don’t you enter?’

Gabriel laughed. ‘I’m not champion material, believe me. Besides, I don’t need all that money, or glory, or whatever.’

‘I don’t need any of those things either.’

‘Maybe that’s exactly why you _should_ enter. Screw all those guys who’re in it for that stuff. Show people that the best way to get anywhere is by being a good guy and working hard.’

Cedric still didn’t appear convinced.

‘Come on, just think of it. You as champion! That’s cool no matter what you’re in it for.’

Cedric finally cracked a smile. ‘It is fun to imagine.’

‘See!’

They both laughed a little, then Cedric’s face fell again. ‘People die in the Tournament.’

‘Pfft, you won’t die!’ Gabriel scoffed.

‘How do you know that?’

‘Because, first of all, you’re way too good, and second of all, they made it safer this year. They had to, otherwise Dumbledore would have never allowed it.’

‘I really don’t know about this…’

‘Well I do. You’ve got the skills, you could totally smash it.’

Cedric wavered.

‘Not to mention you’d look awesome in the papers.’

Cedric chewed his lip for a moment, then finally, ‘All right, fine-‘

‘Yes!’ Gabriel whooped. ‘Awesome, let’s go.’

‘Wait, wait, wait,’ said Cedric, as Gabriel jumped to his feet. ‘I’ll do it, but only if you do it too.’

‘What? No, no, I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

It seemed that Gabriel was unable to come up with an excuse.

‘That’s it, then. We’ll both enter.’

Gabriel rolled his eyes and conceded.

The two of them wrote their names on scraps of parchment, and made their way down to the Entrance Hall. It was the early hours of the morning, and they were the only two around. They both hesitated at the edge of the Age Line, then Cedric stepped over it.

‘Come on, then,’ Cedric grinned.

A flash of fear crossed over Gabriel’s face, before it broke into a wide smile. ‘Let’s do i!’

They walked up to the Goblet and threw their names in together.

John then heard a faint whisper. Neither Cedric or Gabriel seemed to have heard anything as they started back towards the Hufflepuff common room. John looked around, searching for the voice, then he heard it again, a little more clearly this time. _Come back,_ it said. He focused on it and the Entrance Hall dissolved. _Come back now._ He finally recognised it as Sherlock’s voice and followed it until the ante-chamber flickered back into view.

There was a relieved sigh beside him and Sherlock handed him some water. ‘We’re at Hogwarts,’ he said. ‘It’s November, nineteen ninety-four.’

John took a sip of his water and realised he was on his knees, and everyone was staring at him.

‘Your eyes turned white,’ Sherlock muttered.

‘What?’

‘That proof enough for you all?’ Moody said gruffly, making them jump.

Everyone gathered looked unsettled.

‘Well this complicates things a bit,’ said Bagman.

‘I shouldn’t think so, Ludo. If the boy can’t even see how Potter’s name got into the Goblet, I doubt he will cause much of an issue,’ Mr Crouch said scornfully.

‘Sorry,’ John muttered.

Sherlock bristled, but Dumbledore spoke up before he could say anything.

‘How this situation arose, we do not know,’ he said. ‘It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do.’

‘Ah, but Dumbly-dorr-‘

‘My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it.’

Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak, she merely glared. She wasn’t the only one either. Snape looked furious and Karkaroff was livid.

‘Well, shall we crack on, then?’ said Bagman, rubbing his hands together. ‘Got to give the champions their instructions, haven’t we? Barty, want to do the honours?’

Sherlock sat John down in a chair a little way away from the rest of the group.

‘What’s going on?’ Sherlock said softly.

‘You can’t tell?’ said John, his head spinning quite severely.

‘Not always. When you’re confused, I can’t tell much at all.’

‘Helpful.’ John groaned and leaned back in his chair, but the spinning still refused to cease. ‘Eurgh, I feel sick.’

Sherlock looked around and a small, wooden bucket hidden in a dusty corner that Filch must have left behind. He brought it over to John, who gripped it tightly, his head hanging over it.

‘I don’t understand,’ John complained. ‘I know I’m not very good, but I’ve never seen _nothing.’_

‘I wish I had the answer.’

‘Yeah, well, I wish that just once it could be easy.’

‘I know.’

Then John lurched and finally threw up into his bucket, though it did nothing to relieve his dizziness. ‘So, my eyes turned white,’ he said hoarsely, trying to distract himself. ‘That hasn’t happened in a while.’

Sherlock shrugged, then John noticed that he too was pale and clammy.

‘I’m sorry it affects you so much,’ he said. ‘If I could make it stop-‘

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ Sherlock interrupted.

John smiled faintly. ‘Then I’d say that makes you very stupid.’ He threw up once more and groaned loudly.

‘John? Sherlock?’

They looked up and saw that everyone but Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape had left.

‘It may be a good time to visit your friends,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Go through the Great Hall.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said John. He and Sherlock carefully stood up, still feeling extremely ill, then made their way out into the grounds.

The cool air made Sherlock feel slightly better, but John struggled to take too many steps at once, and half way across the grounds, he collapsed into a heap onto the grass.

‘Something’s not right,’ he mumbled, rolling onto his back and resting a hand on his forehead. ‘It’s never this bad.’

Sherlock frowned and waited patiently for John to feel good enough to stand up.

He stumbled on the spot when he finally did drag himself to his feet, but continued onwards until they reached the familiar trees of the Forest.

They didn’t even have to call for the centaurs this time, and were surrounded as soon as they were past the treeline.

‘We’ve been waiting for you,’ said Magorian. ‘Come. The Elder wants to see you.’

They followed wordlessly as Magorian led them to the Starflame, where Elder Oseus was waiting for them.

‘Thank you, Magorian, you may go,’ she said, and he disappeared back into the trees.

John and Sherlock stepped forward, and as the heat from the fire washed over them, John felt himself fading again, so Sherlock grabbed hold of him and lowered them both to the ground.

‘You wanted to see us, Elder Oseus?’ Sherlock said cordially, giving John a moment to catch his breath.

‘I did indeed. Magorian wanted to summon you here, as we used to, but I thought you were a little old for that.’

‘I’m grateful for that, I suppose,’ John mumbled, eyes closed. The nausea that had been plaguing him finally began to dissipate, now that he had removed himself from the trigger.

‘I sense your powers have grown greatly since you were last here, young Oracle. But you have questions for me?’

John rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his head. ‘Yeah, am I doing something wrong? I tried to use my power tonight, and up until now I thought I was getting better at it, but then nothing happened. Nothing at all.’

Oseus fixed him with a piercing stare, then came over to him. ‘Can you stand?’

John pushed himself up again and stood in front of her.

She put her hands on his shoulders and took a few deep breaths. ‘I feel powerful wizard’s magic,’ she said. ‘It’s blocking your visions and weakening your ability to control them.’

‘Who could do something like that?’

‘You-Know-Who’s insider,’ Sherlock said quietly. ‘He said they could…’

‘Large amounts of power attract attention,’ said Oseus. ‘I would advise more caution from this point forward.’

‘Can you do anything about it?’

‘We do not practice wizard’s magic here. I confess, I do not know how to break any curses.’

John sighed, disappointed. ‘So, you’re saying that I won’t be able to see whatever Voldemort doesn’t want me to see?’

‘There could be a way around it. I’m not certain, but if there is one, I have no doubt that the two of you will be able to find it.’

John nodded. ‘What did you want to see me for?’ he asked, sitting back down.

‘I wanted to see how you were progressing, but this block of yours is troubling. Does it affect anything else that you’ve noticed?’

John thought about it. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘I’ve been having trouble with this connection with Sherlock.’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, I sort of started being able to feel it at the end of last year, but now it’s just gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘Yeah. Can’t feel a thing.’

‘Strange…’ Her eyes slid over to Sherlock, who was staring resolutely at the fire. ‘I don’t see why a curse designed to block your vision would affect this. Perhaps you’ve been focusing too much on the other aspects of your power.’

‘Maybe being near the fire will help?’ John suggested.

‘Be my guest.’

John pulled Sherlock closer to sit in front of him, and went to take his hands, but he pulled away. ‘Come on,’ he said exasperatedly, ‘you know that skin contact works best.’

Sherlock sighed and reluctantly took John’s hands.

John quickly suppressed the thrill he felt at Sherlock’s touch, and slowly allowed everything but Sherlock to fall out of focus.

Sherlock sat as still as he could, trying not to fidget under John’s intense stare.

After a few minutes, John blinked rapidly as he felt a faint flicker of _something._ He closed his eyes to concentrate on that alone. It got slightly clearer and he managed to identify it as a vague annoyance before it slipped away. He gasped and opened his eyes.

‘As I said before, you just need practice,’ said Sherlock, pulling his hands away.

Oseus smiled at them. ‘You are both always welcome here, of course, and you may return if you ever need anything, but it is time to go back to the castle. You both need sleep.’

They rose for the final time.

‘Thank you for your help, Elder Oseus,’ said Sherlock.

‘It’s my honour. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight.’

Magorian escorted them to the edge of the Forest, and they dawdled there for a while, looking up at the castle.

John almost wished they could stay within the quiet depths of the Forest, rather than face the chaos inside the school grounds, especially since a little of his nausea had returned. He put the thought to the back of his mind and reluctantly exited the treeline, feeling more and more apprehensive the closer he climbed to the common room.

Sherlock stopped outside the silver swan portrait.

‘You’re not coming up?’ John asked.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Sherlock. ‘I know Fred and George, and they’ll have done something loud and irritating to celebrate.’

‘And you’re making me go in alone?’

‘I need some peace and quiet. I need to think.’

‘Oh.’

They both stood awkwardly for a moment before Sherlock bid John goodnight and went through the swan portrait. John then continued on towards the Gryffindor common room. He could have been imagining it, but Sherlock seemed almost upset about something. He didn’t have time to dwell on it, however, once he reached the Fat Lady.

‘And just where have you been?’ the Fat Lady said to him.

‘None of your business,’ he said, a little more irritably than he’d intended. ‘Sorry, I mean, I can’t tell you.’

‘Off with that Ravenclaw boy again, were you?’ she said suggestively, waggling her eyebrows at him.

John turned red. ‘I – that’s – that’s not – just let me in.’

‘You haven’t given me the password yet.’ She and her friend Violet both laughed at him.

‘Balderdash,’ he snapped.

‘Do relax, dear, everyone knows.’

‘That makes me feel so much better,’ John said sarcastically as the portrait swung open.

A party was raging inside and Fred and George had raided the kitchens. Thankfully, no one noticed John come in, so he was able to slip upstairs to the dormitory unnoticed.

Ron and Harry were already up there, but the curtains were drawn, so John took the opportunity to join them in sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to OtakuElf, hhhelcat and rainingcatz for the comments! See you again in two weeks!  
> Also, follow me on Twitter @Nurmengardx


	16. The Weighing of the Wands

The Weighing of the Wands

John awoke the next morning and, though he had managed to get a relatively good night’s sleep, he sat up feeling nauseous. He was alone in the dormitory, so took his time getting dressed. He went down to breakfast, where Sam, Dean and Cas were eating.

‘John!’ Sam grinned. ‘How are you doing? I wondered if-’

‘Actually, Sam, I’m feeling pretty awful. I’m not really up for any questions.’

‘Okay, that’s no problem at all,’ Sam smiled. ‘I’m ready whenever you are, so just let me know.’

‘I might have something that can help,’ said Cas, reaching into his pocket.

‘Don’t bother, Cas, I just pushed myself too hard last night. Your potions probably wouldn’t work anyway, since that’s just my luck.’

Cas nodded.

‘Crazy about Harry though, right?’ said Dean, munching on some bacon.

‘I dunno, stuff always happens to him. I’m not entirely surprised,’ John said.

‘True,’ said Dean. ‘Be cool if he won, though.’

‘I think the goal here is to keep him alive,’ John said.

‘He’ll be fine. He’s got you for a start.’

John gave a short, nervous laugh, as he began to notice suspicious looks being thrown at him from all around the room. ‘Have you seen Sherlock?’ he asked Cas.

Cas glanced at Dean uncertainly.

‘What?’ said John.

‘I think he’s upset about something. I haven’t seen him all morning and…’

‘And what?’

‘I heard him crying last night.’

John’s mouth dropped open. ‘ _Crying?’_

 _‘_ Yes. I think he thought I was in the hospital wing.’

‘And you haven’t seen him since?’

‘No. He was already gone when I woke up.’

John took a quick drink of water, then got up.

‘Where you going?’ Dean asked through a mouthful of sausage.

‘Just for a walk,’ John shrugged.

It was a chilly morning, but the skies were clear, a weak sun shining in a pale blue sky. John tried the lake first and stood under the large beech tree. The Durmstrang ship was drifting around slightly with the current. John could just about make out Harry and Hermione walking around on the other side of the lake. He waited a few minutes, then wandered away, further out into the grounds, then sat down, not far from Hagrid’s hut

It was quiet except for the rustling of leaves and the occasional, muffled explosion from the crates of Skrewts, so he closed his eyes, not thinking about anything in particular. Allowing himself to relax alone helped him clear his head, until he realised that now he had felt Sherlock once, he might not need to be touching him to do it again. He took his time, seeing no reason to rush, and thought about Sherlock. He let the memories, thoughts and feelings flow through him, without hanging on to any single one, until he noticed the real, present Sherlock, flickering in the corner of his eye. He waited, holding it in place, but not reaching for it, waiting for it to come to him.

It was fuzzy at first, and he was only able to make out Sherlock’s silhouette in a window somewhere. He took a few steadying breaths and waited. The scene sharpened a little and he distantly heard the sound of hooting and flapping. _The Owlery_ , he thought. He smiled and said, ‘I see you.’

Sherlock jumped and scanned the room, confused when he saw no one.

John snapped back to himself, light-headed and laughing giddily. He waited for the spinning to stop, then climbed to his feet and made his way up to the Owlery, where Sherlock was waiting for him.

‘I did it!’ John grinned.

‘Indeed,’ said Sherlock.

‘On my own!’

‘That’s correct.’

Then John noticed Sherlock’s tone of voice. He was still standing at the window, staring out of it with Dolly on his shoulder, looking extremely uncomfortable.

‘What’s wrong?’ John said, concerned. ‘Why do you have Dolly?’

‘We were talking.’

John smiled, but Sherlock didn’t say anything else, so John went over to him.

‘Come on, what is it?’

Sherlock shifted from one foot to the other and looked uncertainly at John.

‘You can tell me,’ John said softly, gently rubbing Sherlock’s arm, and ignoring Dolly’s croaking.

Sherlock bit his lip slightly, then opened his mouth. ‘I- I-’ but he cut himself off when they heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

John dropped his hand just as Harry and Hermione entered the room.

‘Oh, hello,’ Harry said. ‘What are you two doing up here?’

‘Nothing much,’ John shrugged. ‘You?’

‘I’m sending a letter to Sirius about the Tournament.’

‘Oh, good idea. He’ll know what to do.’

Sherlock used the distraction as an opportunity to slip away, taking Dolly with him.

‘How is he so good at that,’ John grumbled.

Harry sat down and wrote his letter.

 

_Dear Sirius,_

_You told me to keep you posted on what’s happening at Hogwarts, so here goes - I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Triwizard Tournament’s happening this year and I just got picked as a fourth champion. I don’t know who put my name in the Goblet of Fire, because I didn’t. The other Hogwarts Champion is Cedric Diggory, from Hufflepuff._

_Hope you’re okay, and Buckbeak._

_Harry._

 

Hedwig fluttered down onto Harry’s shoulder as soon as he finished and held out her leg, ready to go.

‘I can’t use you,’ Harry said to her. ‘Sirius says I’ve got to use one of these…’

Hedwig gave a very loud hoot, and took off so suddenly that her talons cut into Harry’s shoulder.

Harry looked up at her helplessly, her back turned to him. Then Grace, Castiel’s black barn owl, flew down and sat on the windowsill. After a moment of staring at her, she lifted up her leg as if to say, ‘I’m obviously trying to help you.’

Harry hesitated. ‘Well, we can’t just take you without asking,’ Harry said to her.

She cocked her head at John, who raised his eyebrows.

‘You think she knows?’ he laughed.

‘Maybe,’ said Hermione. ‘Owls are really clever.’

‘Yeah, well, it’s not Cas’s mind I can read.’

‘You could see if Sherlock’s with him,’ Hermione suggested.

‘Okay, give me a minute.’ He sat down and repeated what he’d done out in the grounds, and found Sherlock talking to Castiel. He couldn’t see where they were, but they were sitting down, and Dolly was in his lap. He still looked quite distressed.

‘Ask him if we can borrow Grace,’ John said.

Sherlock jumped again and hastily wiped his eyes. ‘Can Harry borrow your owl?’ Sherlock asked Cas.

Cas looked extremely confused. ‘What- what for?’

‘To send a letter to Sirius, so it might take a while.’

‘That’s fine,’ said Cas, bewildered.

‘Are you okay?’ John said to Sherlock.

Sherlock cringed. ‘Yes, I’m fine. Stop doing that.’

Then John was back in the Owlery. ‘Yeah, Cas says you can borrow her,’ he said breathlessly.

‘Wow,’ said Harry. ‘Okay, brilliant.’ He tied his letter to Grace’s leg and she took off. He then reached out to stroke Hedwig, but she clicked her beak furiously and soared up into the rafters, out of reach.

‘First Ron, then you,’ Harry said angrily. ‘ _This isn’t my fault.’_ He stormed out, leaving John and Hermione.

‘What happened with Ron?’ John asked.

‘I’ll explain on the way down,’ Hermione said. ‘Come on, let’s get something to eat, you don’t look well.’

‘Ah, “not well”, my primary facial expression,’ John joked. ‘But really, Hermione, I’m fine.’

Hermione ignored him and led him out of the Owlery.

 

It became very obvious the next day that most of the students believe Harry entered himself in the Tournament. The Hufflepuffs in particular turned quite cold towards all of the Gryffindors, despite having previously been on good terms with them. All except Sam, Gabriel and Molly Hooper.

Herbology that day was strained, with Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley refusing to speak to Harry, even though they were re-potting Bouncing Bulbs at the same tray.

‘Just ignore them, they’re being ridiculous,’ Molly said to John.

John just shrugged, trying to focus on keeping control of the Bouncing Bulb in his hand.

‘It’s the Chamber of Secrets all over again,’ she said as John successfully shoved a bulb into the soil and it stayed put.

‘Yeah, except this time people think I’m in on it,’ John sighed, picking up another bulb.

‘Then they’re idiots.’

John smiled at her, but the bulb wriggled free of his grasp and smacked him hard in the face.

‘ _Ouch!’_ he gasped.

‘You’re bleeding!’ Molly explained.

John put his hand up to his face and tried to stem the flow of blood from his nose.

‘Here.’ Molly pulled some tissues from her pocket and pressed them to John’s nose.

He moved his hands out of her way, but when he saw the blood on them, he felt himself being pulled away and groaned.

‘John? What’s wrong?’ Molly asked, but her voice was already faint and far away.

Everything was dark at first, and it took a moment for his surroundings to sharpen and for him to notice that Sherlock was there. They were surrounded by tall hedges, so he couldn’t tell where they were. His hands were still covered in blood, and still his own as far as he could tell. Then he looked at Sherlock and was shocked by the pure, unfiltered panic on his face.

‘Wha-’ Then it all dissolved and John was back in the greenhouse with Molly. ‘Whoa,’ he mumbled, grabbing hold of the table.

‘What lesson is Sherlock in?’ Molly babbled nervously. ‘Maybe I could go and get him, or-’

‘No, don’t worry,’ John said, shaking his head slightly.

‘Watson, are you all right over there?’ Professor Sprout called over.

‘Yes, Professor. Nothing’s broken or anything.’ He tried to get back to his work, but caught Ron glaring at him and sighed.

The lesson ended and John gave Molly a quick hug. ‘Thanks,’ he said to her, then left for Care of Magical Creatures, where Hagrid tried to get them to take a Skrewt for a walk. John was one of the few that attempted it, until the Skrewt he was walking blasted off and he was yanked several feet through the air, as well as attaining some mild burns to his hands. By the time the day was over, he was thoroughly fed up. He trailed up to the castle behind the rest of the Gryffindors, and was stopped by Sherlock in the Entrance Hall.

‘Ow!’ John yelped, as Sherlock grabbed his burned hands.

Sherlock took a small tub out of his pocket and began rubbing some yellow burn salve on John’s hands. ‘What did you see?’

‘Just you and some hedges. No context.’

Sherlock looked up from John’s hand and frowned.

‘What?’ John said.

‘You’ve still got blood on your face. Here.’ He drew his wand and pointed it at John. _‘Tergeo.’_

‘Ah!’ John exclaimed as the area around his nose and top lip suddenly stung as if it had been rubbed raw. ‘What did you do?’

‘Whoops.’

‘ _Whoops?’_

 _‘_ Yes. You were growing a moustache.’

‘Oh?’

‘And now it’s gone.’

‘Oh.’

He left John looking completely bewildered, holding a hand to his stinging lip.

John then saw Castiel attempting to sneak past him. ‘Cas!’ he called, stopping him at the foot of the marble staircase.

‘Yes, John?’ he said, avoiding John’s eyes.

‘I wanted to ask you about something. I saw Sherlock with you yesterday and he looked upset, so…’

‘So?’

‘So, what were you talking about?’

‘Why don’t you ask Sherlock?’ Cas said, trying to carry on walking.

John ran around and cut him off. ‘He won’t say - wait, Cas, please. Tell me what’s going on.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘I promised I wouldn’t. Please don’t make me say, I promised.’

John reluctantly stepped aside and allowed Cas to hurry past.

 

During their next Charms class, John and Harry were sitting together, neither of them feeling particularly like practising their Summoning Charm. The last few days had been miserable, with both of them receiving nasty looks and comments from students in all three houses. John had hoped they would get at least a little leniency from the Ravenclaws, but they too were convinced that the two of them must have cheated. This made Ron’s refusal to accept the truth that much more painful.

So when Sherlock Summoned John’s textbook across the room, John wasn’t impressed.

‘Give it back,’ he said moodily.

‘Summon it,’ said Sherlock.

‘No. You took it, you give it back.’

‘You need to practice.’

‘Since when do you even care?’

‘John, just-’

‘But I don’t-’

‘Will you-’

‘ _Fine - Accio!’_ He was way more forceful with it than he should have been since Sherlock had annoyed him, so the book shot at him. He ducked just in time, and the book smacked the wall behind him, breaking apart. He glared at Sherlock, who gave him a smug smile.

‘Why?’ John demanded, picking up the pieces of his book. ‘And don’t say you were bored.’

‘John, it’s like you can read my mind-’

‘I swear I will throw this at you-’

‘Boys, that’s enough!’ Professor Flitwick squeaked.

John glared at Sherlock again and muttered ‘ _Reparo’,_ to fix his book.

He pulled Sherlock aside after the lesson. ‘What’s the matter with you? I get it, you’re upset about something and you don’t want to tell me. Fine. Just stop messing with me. Everyone already hates me, and I have double Potions next, and I can’t deal with any more, all right, so just _stop it.’_

Sherlock thought for a moment then said, ‘Good luck in Potions.’

‘You know what?’

‘What, John?’

‘Nevermind.’ John shook his head and walked away, too annoyed to hear Sherlock’s sigh.

Harry and Hermione were already waiting outside the dungeons. John reached them just as the Slytherins arrived, each of them wearing badges bearing luminous red letters. As they got closer they could see that they read:

_Support CEDRIC DIGGORY_

_the REAL Hogwarts Champion_

 

‘Like them, Potter?’ Malfoy said loudly. ‘And this isn’t all they do - look!’ He pressed his badge into his chest, and the message vanished, then was replaced by another one that glowed green.

 

_POTTER STINKS_

 

The Slytherins howled with laughter.

‘Amazing,’ John said sarcastically. ‘Probably the smartest thing I’ve ever seen.’

‘Want one, Watson?’ said Malfoy, holding out a badge to John. ‘I’ve got loads, and you’ve probably already predicted Potter’s humiliating defeat. But don’t touch my hand, now. I’ve just washed it, you see, don’t want a Mudblood sliming it up.’

Harry suddenly shoved past, wand raised.

‘Oh, Harry, don’t,’ John said. ‘He’s just trying to-’

‘Go on, then, Potter,’ Malfoy cut in, drawing his own wand. ‘Moody’s not here to look after you now - do it if you’ve got the guts-’

John groaned as they stared directly into each other’s eyes, then-

‘ _Furnunculus!’_ Harry yelled.

‘ _Densaugeo!’_ screamed Malfoy.

Jets of light shot from both wands, hit each other in mid-air and ricocheted off at angles - harry;s hit Goyle, and Malfoy’s hit Hermione.

Goyle’s face immediately began erupting in boils. John rushed over to Hermione when she whimpered and clapped her hands over her mouth.

‘Hermione! Are you okay?’ He pried her hands away and saw that her already over-large front teeth were growing at an alarming rate. ‘Okay, it’s going to be fine,’ he said reassuringly. ‘It’s not that bad, you’ll be completely fine-’

‘What is all this noise about?’ Snape had arrived.

The Slytherins all clamoured to give an explanation until Snape pointed his finger at Malfoy and said, ‘Explain.’

‘Potter attacked me, sir-’

‘We attacked each other at the same time!’ Harry shouted.

‘-and he hit Goyle - look-’

Snape examined Goyle, whose face now resembled some sort of poisonous fungus.

‘Hospital wing, Goyle,’ Snape said calmly.

‘Malfoy got Hermione!’ Ron piped up. ‘ _Look!’_

Hermione was still attempting to cover her teeth, though this was difficult as they had now grown past her collar. Ron forced her to show Snape.

He looked at her coldly and said, ‘I see no difference.’

Hermione whimpered and ran off, all the way up the corridor and out of sight.’

Harry and Ron then began shouting at Snape. Fortunately since they were both shouting and the dungeons reverberated sound, most of what they were saying was lost in a jumbled echo.

Snape seemed to get the gist, however.

‘Let’s see,’ he said in his silkiest voice. ‘Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Oh, and another twenty from Watson. Control your friends. Now, all of you, get inside.’

John trudged inside and sat down next to Harry, while Ron sat with Seamus and Dean Thomas.

‘Antidotes,’ said Snape, looking around at them all. ‘You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then we will be selecting someone on whom to test one…’

John gulped. He was way too angry and anxious to be able to concentrate on his antidote, and by the look on Snape’s face, it was Harry he would be poisoning.

Then a knock on the door broke the terrified silence in the dungeon.

It was Colin Creevey. He edged into the room, beaming at Harry, and walked up to Snape’s desk.

‘Yes?’ Snape said curtly.

‘Please, sir, I’m supposed to take Harry Potter and John Watson upstairs.’

John and Harry gave each other confused looks.

‘Potter and Watson have another hour of Potions to complete,’ Snape said coldly. ‘They will come upstairs when this class is finished.’

Colin went pink.

‘Sir - sir, Mr Bagman wants them,’ he said nervously. ‘All the champions have to go, I think they want to take photographs…’

‘Watson isn’t a champion.’

‘Mr Bagman asked for him specifically-’

‘Very well, very well,’ Snape snapped. ‘Leave your things here, I want you both back down here to test your antidotes.’

‘Please, sir - they’ve got to take their things with them,’ squeaked Colin. ‘All the champions-’

‘Very _well!’_ said Snape. ‘Take your bags and get out of my sight!’

John didn’t need telling twice. He swung his bag over his shoulder and hurried out of the dungeons, behind Colin.

Colin began chattering at top speed as soon as they closed the door, but John didn’t listen to most of it, as he was thinking hard about what Bagman might want him for.

‘Good luck!’ Colin said as they reached the right room.

They stood outside for a moment, then Harry knocked on the door and entered.

It was a fairly small classroom, and all of the furniture had been pushed to the back of the room, except for one long, velvet covered table in the middle of the room.

Bagman was sitting at the table, talking to a witch in magenta robes. Viktor Krum was standing moodily in a corner, not talking to anyone. Cedric and Fleur were engaged in conversation, while a man holding a large black camera watched.

Bagman suddenly spotted them both and bounded over to them. ‘Ah, here he is! Champion number four! In you come, Harry, in you come…’

John hung back by the door, uncomfortably aware that he didn’t belong there, and waited for Bagman to tell him what he wanted.

‘No need to look so worried, Harry, it’s just the wand weighing ceremony,’ Bagman said loudly.

‘The what?’

‘It’s just to make sure your wand is in fighting condition for the tournament,’ Bagman said breezily.

‘The expert’s just upstairs with Dumbledore and then there’s going to be a little photoshoot. This is Rita Skeeter, she’s doing a small piece on the tournament for the _Daily Prophet…’_

 _‘_ Maybe not _that_ small, Ludo,’ said Rita Skeeter.

Her hair was set in elaborate and rigid curls that contrasted with her heavy jaw. She wore jewelled spectacles and the fingers clutching her crocodile-skin handbag ended in two-inch nails painted crimson. As John was taking her in, he realised with a start that she shimmered slightly as he looked at her. Then she grabbed Harry and left the room with him.

John continued to hover by the door, but Bagman just wandered over to Fleur and Cedric. John was just considering going over himself, when the door opened and in came Professor Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime and Mr Ollivander, the wandmaker. They all walked past him without seeing him, and started talking with Bagman.

‘Where’s Harry?’ Dumbledore asked.

‘Rita’s just doing a little interview. They won’t be long,’ Bagman said brightly. ‘In the meantime, why don’t we take our seats?’

‘Of course, Ludo. I’ll just go and find Harry and Rita.’ Dumbledore left again and everyone began to sit down.

‘Mr Watson.’

John jumped, having not noticed that Mr Ollivander had come over and stood beside him. ‘Hello, Mr Ollivander,’ he smiled. ‘How are you getting on?’

‘Oh, fine, fine. And yourself? I hope that wand is treating you well.’

‘Oh, definitely. It’s a brilliant wand. Draws a bit of attention, though.’

‘Ah, yes, silver lime. You know, silver lime wands perform best for Seers.’

‘I do now.’

‘May I?’ Ollivander held out his hand.

‘Oh! Yeah, of course.’ John drew his wand and let Mr Ollivander examine it.

‘Beautiful wand, if I do say so myself… Unicorn hair core… eleven inches… nice and flexible… well worth the fuss it took to pair you with it, wouldn’t you say?’

John chuckled. ‘Yeah, I remember.’

 

John’s mother had decided that they should go to Diagon Alley together, just the two of them, so her full attention would be on him. He had been glad of this when all the magic and noise completely overwhelmed him. They’d worked together to figure out everything on John’s equipment list.

‘It says here I need a wand. That should be easy enough, right?’ John had said, clutching the parchment tightly.

His mum had peered around, then pointed. ‘That one over there says “wandmakers”, so that’s probably a good place to start.’

Once inside Ollivander’s, John began to get excited. He hadn’t really believed that he was a wizard, but now that he was about to get his very own magic wand, it finally felt real.

‘Which is your wand hand?’ Ollivander had said, while he took John’s measurements.

He glanced at his mum uncertainly.

‘Oh, er, he’s left-handed, if that helps,’ she said.

Once Ollivander had finished his measuring, he began pulling boxes down from various shelves.

They were there for an hour at the very least, with John getting more and more miserable with every rejected wand.

‘Don’t worry, you’ll get one,’ his mum said reassuringly, gently rubbing John’s shoulder.

Ollivander stood and stared at him for a while, head tilted. ‘Perhaps… But no… but maybe…’ He disappeared and they heard him rummaging around right at the back of the shop. When he came back, his brow was furrowed and he was holding a dusty old box, with the fabric peeling at the corners. He picked up the wand inside and held it for a moment. ‘Silver lime,’ he muttered. ‘It’s been a very long time since I sold one of these.’

‘How come?’ John had asked curiously.

‘The silver lime is quite picky, therefore not easy to find a match for.’

John had taken the wand and immediately felt a warmth emanating from it. He waved it and a shower of rainbow sparks had shot out of the end. His mum had clapped and a grin spread across his face.

 

‘How did you know?’ John asked as Ollivander gave him back his wand. ‘My power hadn’t even come in back then.’

Ollivander smiled. ‘Mostly from your posture, but there was a little something in your eyes. Of course, I’ve only ever met one other Seer and she didn’t attract a silver lime, so I couldn’t be certain.’

John glanced back up at Bagman, but he was still preoccupied by the other champions. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘Well, to be perfectly honest, Mr Watson, you seemed quite disoriented and I didn’t want to make it worse. I doubt you were likely to believe me at that point in time.’

John thought back to the previous year and how long it had taken for him to accept his power. ‘True,’ he conceded.

Then Harry, Dumbledore and Rita Skeeter returned.

‘John, what are you doing in here?’ Dumbledore said, finally seeing John.

‘Mr Bagman said he wanted to speak to me.’

‘And who is this?’ said Rita Skeeter, inserting herself into the conversation.

‘Oh, John Watson,’ he said, shaking her hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Miss Skeeter.’

‘John Watson?’ she said, her eyes lighting up. ‘The Seer I’ve heard so much about.’

‘I’m so glad that’s the first thing people think of when they hear my name.’

‘Okay, everyone, let’s get started!’ Bagman called excitedly.

‘Ludo, you wanted to speak to John?’ Dumbledore said.

‘Oh! I totally forgot! Er - why don’t you sit over there, John, and we’ll have a word after the ceremony.’

John sat obediently in the corner and watched.

All the judges sat down at the velvet table, with the champions sitting opposite, and Ollivander standing in the space between.

‘May I introduce Mr Ollivander?’ said Dumbledore. ‘He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament.’

‘Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you forward first, please?’ said Ollivander. He twirled Fleur’s wand in his hands and it emitted pink and gold sparks. ‘Yes,’ he said quietly, ‘nine and a half inches… inflexible… rosewood… and containing… dear me…’

‘An ‘air from ze ‘ead of a Veela,’ said Fleur. ‘One of my grandmuzzer’s.’

‘Yes,’ said Mr Ollivander, ‘yes, I’ve never used Veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for some rather temperamental wands… however, to each his own, and if this suits you…’ Ollivander then checked for scratched and bumps along the length of the wand, then muttered, ‘ _Orchideous!’_ and a bunch of flowers burst from the tip. ‘Very well, very well, it’s in fine working order.’ He scooped up the flowers and handed them to Fleur with her wand.

He did the same with Cedric, Krum and Harry’s wands and didn’t seem to find an issue with any of them.

‘Thank you all,’ said Dumbledore. ‘You may go back to your lessons now - or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end-’

‘Photos, Dumbledore, photos!’ cried Bagman excitedly. ‘All the judges and champions!’

John watched, amused as they all tried to get organised for photographs. He was just pleased that he’d gotten out of Potions for nothing.

‘So,’ said Rita Skeeter, sidling over to him, ‘what’s it like being a Seer?’

‘Well, er - ‘ he was distracted by a piece of parchment at her side, and an acid-green quill whizzing across it.

‘Don’t mind that, just a Quick-Quotes Quill,’ Rita smiled. ‘You were saying?’

‘Right, erm… I don’t really know how to describe it.’

‘I’m sure it’s a lot of fun,’ Rita prompted. ‘Knowing what’s coming is quite an advantage.’

‘Not usually,’ John admitted. ‘It’s painful and difficult.’

‘Really? Fascinating. I heard that you can see anything; past, present and future.’

‘Where did you hear that?’

Rita flashed a wide smile. ‘I have my sources. Is it true?’

‘Well, sort of. It’s easiest to see the past. It’s already happened, so the events are set. The future’s always changing, so it’s harder to get a good look at.’

‘Interesting. And how would you say that will affect the outcome of the tournament?’

John could tell that this was what she had been dying to ask the whole time. ‘Well - erm-’

‘That’s what we were just about to discuss,’ said Bagman, coming over to them. ‘Right, John?’

‘Lovely,’ said Rita. ‘One more question, then. You seem to spend a lot of time with that Holmes boy, Sherlock. Are you two…?’

‘What? Me and Sherlock?’ John spluttered. ‘That’s not - I mean - we’re not-’

‘Lovely,’ she said again. She snapped her fingers and the wizard with the camera turned and snapped a quick photo of John. ‘That’s everything I need. Thank you.’ Rita put her things back in her handbag and walked away.

‘John, I’m so sorry i made you miss your lesson,’ said Bagman.

‘Oh, don’t worry about that at all. Really, it’s not problem.’

‘Good, good. I just wanted to talk about your involvement in the tournament.’

‘Okay.’

‘I’ve heard that you have different sorts of visions. One kind that happens on its own, and another kind that you make happen, is that right?’

‘How does everyone know this?’

‘You can never keep any secrets in Hogwarts. You can try, but it’ll always come out in the end. So is that right about your visions?’

‘Yeah, it is.’

‘Great! That makes things a lot simpler. We were thinking - the judges and I - that since Harry already has such a disadvantage, that you might be allowed to help him out. We think that if you happen to have a vision of the tasks then that would be perfectly fine to share, but we don’t think it would be fair if you tried to do it on purpose. What do you think?’

‘Sounds fine to me. I’m not very good at forcing visions anyway, especially that far in the future.’

‘Excellent!’ Bagman said happily. ‘Not that we could really stop you, but Dumbledore assures us that you’re trustworthy.’

‘And you _all_ think this is a good idea?’ John said doubtfully, glancing at Madame Maxime.

‘Well, Barty Crouch thinks so, and he’s in charge, so good enough.’

John nodded. ‘So he doesn’t think it’s cheating, then?’

‘He said that the tournament is about the champions using all resources available to them, besides asking a teacher, so I suppose you count as a resource.’

‘Good to know.’

‘All right, then. Now that’s all sorted, I’ll see you again at the First Task.’

They were finally allowed to go down to dinner. They were late, so everyone else was already down there, except for Hermione. Harry chose to sit by himself at the end of the table, desperate for some peace.

John sat down with Castiel, Sherlock, Sam and Dean. ‘How’s Hermione?’ John asked Cas, who was pushing a small piece of pork and some peas around his plate.

‘She’ll be okay. Madam Pomfrey’s tending to her now. She was quite upset, though.’

‘What’s happened?’ said Sherlock.

‘Harry and Malfoy got in a fight,’ John explained. ‘Hermione got hit by Malfoy’s curse.’

They finished their dinner and John stretched. ‘Better go,’ he said. ‘Trelawney’s making me redo my homework. Apparently it wasn’t close to being accurate.’

‘ _You’re_ bad at Divination?’ Dean laughed. ‘Wow.’

‘Yeah, Dean, I see the irony, thanks.’

‘He’s not bad at Divination,’ said Sherlock. ‘ _I’m_ bad at Divination. Trelawney’s just jealous that he’s a real Seer and she isn’t.’

‘Doesn’t mean I don’t have to do the homework,’ John pointed out.

‘I better go do homework too,’ said Dean, standing up.

Everyone stopped and stared at him.

‘What?’ he said.

‘Since when do you do homework?’ Sam scoffed.

‘What are you talking about, I always-’

Sam raised his eyebrows.

‘Yeah, who am I kidding? I’m gonna go pretend to think the homework is hard, and then ask Katie to help me with it.’

‘Slick,’ Sam laughed.

‘Katie Bell?’ Cas asked.

‘That’s the one,’ Dean grinned. ‘Let’s go.’

John and Dean walked out, grabbing Harry on their way. Only Sherlock and Sam saw the forlorn expression on Castiel’s face.

John and Harry dashed up to their dormitory to get their work, and they bumped into Ron.

‘You’ve had an owl,’ Ron said to Harry, pointing at Harry’s bed, where Grace was sitting patiently. ‘And we’ve got our detentions tomorrow night, Snape’s dungeon.’ He then walked straight out of the room, not looking at either of them.

John sighed. ‘Come on, let’s see what Sirius says.’

Harry took the letter from Grace and read it out while John let Grace out the window.

 

_Harry,_

_I can’t say everything I would like to in this letter, it’s risky in case the owl is intercepted - we need to talk, face to face. Can you ensure that you are alone by the fire in Gryffindor Tower at one o’clock in the morning on the 22nd November? I know better than anyone that you can look after yourself, and while you’re around Dumbledore and Moody, I don’t think anyone will be able to hurt you. However, someone seems to be having a good try. Entering you in the tournament would have been very risky, especially right under Dumbledore’s nose._

_Be on watch, Harry. I still want to hear about anything unusual. Let me know about the 22nd November as quickly as you can._

_Sirius_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to Because_We_Match and hhhelcat for the comments!  
> Hope you all enjoyed the chapter and I'll see you again in two weeks!


	17. The Hungarian Horntail

The Hungarian Horntail

A few days after the wand weighing ceremony, John was again late down to breakfast. As he leapt down the last few steps of the staircase, Harry stomped past him, red in the face, closely followed by Hermione.

'What-?'

But they were already gone, so John continued on to the Great Hall. It took him a few moments, but half way down the hall, he noticed that sniggers and whispers were all being directed at him.

'What's going on?' he asked.

Sherlock, Dean, Sam, and Cas were all sitting at the far end of the Gryffindor table, all failing at concealing their own amusement.

Dean passed him that morning's  _Daily Prophet,_ with the headline:  _Triwizard Champion._ Most of the front page was dedicated to a picture of Harry. John began to read the article underneath, but Dean said, 'No, not that,' and turned the paper to another page headed:  _A Seer in the Works_ , accompanied by a picture of John staring into the distance.

'What the hell is this?' John demanded, heat rising up his neck.

'Why don't you read it and find out?' Dean said, barely able to contain himself.

_John Watson, a small, unassuming boy of fourteen, has been blessed with the power to see the future. A gift that many wizards would give anything to posses. Rita Skeeter gets the inside scoop on what it's really like from Mr Watson himself._

' _It's very different from being a normal Seer,' says John. 'I'm the most powerful one in the world, so it's really difficult. Sometimes I can hardly stand the pain.'_

'That's not what I said!' John said hotly.

'Keep going,' said Dean.

_Watson, however, is also a close friend of new Triwizard champion Harry Potter. There are many that are concerned that a boy with this sort of power would be far too easily tempted to cheat. When asked whether or not he was involved with Potter's miraculous inclusion in the Triwizard Tournament, Watson only had this to say._

' _Maybe I did help him. I have no idea. It's so hard to keep in touch with reality these days.'_

'Unbelievable!' John exclaimed.

'Dude, you gotta read the whole thing.'

_This sort of power appears to be far too much for one so young to handle, but it's not all doom and gloom for Mr Watson. Despite his thin grasp on reality and his near-constant debilitating pain, there appears to be a blossoming romance between Watson and his companion, young Sherlock Holmes._

' _They're always together,' says close friend Colin Creevey. 'Sherlock's in our common room almost every night. Sometimes he doesn't even leave.'_

_When Watson himself was delicately asked about his relationship with Mr Holmes, he was surprisingly frank._

' _Sherlock and I are meant to be,' he said, smiling for the first time in our interview. 'Sherlock doesn't know it, but I do. We'll be together one day, you just wait and see.'_

_So there you have it, loyal readers. We shall indeed see what the future holds for our young Seer, but until then, we can only wait._

John looked up from the paper, horrified, face burning, and heart in his throat.

No one around him could stand it any longer, and Sherlock, Sam and Dean all burst out laughing.

'You - you don't believe any of this, do you?' John asked Sherlock.

'Oh, John,' said Sherlock, wiping away tears of laughter. 'Of course not. I just can't believe you let Rita Skeeter interview you.'

'Yeah, well, apparently I am a complete nutcase,' John fumed, getting to his feet. He threw down the paper in disgust and turned to leave.

'John, wait,' said Sherlock. 'Tell me again how we're meant to be.'

John exclaimed angrily, but wordlessly, and he stormed out, followed by Sherlock howling with laughter.

'You can't make this stuff up,' Dean laughed.

'Clearly you can,' Sam said, pointing at the paper and sending them both back into fits of laughter. 'Hey, look at that, someone's owl's late.'

They looked up to watch it, but then realised it was flying towards them. Castiel's fists clenched slightly on the table in front of him.

'Wait, isn't that Dad's owl?' Sam said.

They both sat up straighter, all traces of humour wiped from their faces, and Dean hastily pulled the letter off the owl's leg, causing it to hoot reproachfully.

'Yeah, yeah, get outta here,' Dean said, shooing the owl away. He ripped the letter open and eagerly began to read, with Sam reading over his shoulder. The further through the letter they read, the further their expressions dropped. Sam's eyebrows furrowed and Dean's face went completely blank but for a slight tightening around his lips. Then, without any warning, Dean screwed up the letter and slammed it down on the table.

'God  _damn it!'_ he yelled, smacking his bowl and goblet off the table, letting them clang to the floor, then stamping off the way John and Sherlock had gone.

At Dean's outburst, adrenaline rushed through Castiel's body until he was gasping for air, hands clutching the front of his robes so tightly his knuckles turned white. Then Sam's voice came through to him.

'Cas, hey, Cas,' he said gently. 'Look right here, look at me.' His face swam into focus.

'Sam,' Cas gasped. 'I - can't-'

'I know, I know, but it's okay. Dean taught you the technique, right?'

Cas managed a nod.

'Okay, great. Will you do it with me? Let's just give it a try, okay? I'll count, come on… Deep breath, in-two-three-four, hold-two-three-four, out-two-three-four…'

It took a few rounds, but Sam helped Cas get his breathing down to a normal rate.

'I'm sorry,' Cas whispered.

'No, no, don't be. I get it.' Sam watched him sympathetically. 'Are you okay? Maybe you should take the day.'

Cas shook his head. 'If I took a day off every time I… Well, I'd never be in class. What's wrong with Dean?' he asked, pulling himself together.

Sam sighed. He grabbed the letter that Dean had crumpled up and put it in his pocket. 'This letter says that Dad has to stay on the road for a while. There's been a resurgence of Demons…' Sam trailed off.

'Because of Lucy,' Cas finished.

Sam grimaced. 'Kinda, yeah.'

'I'm sorry.'

'It's not your fault.'

Cas looked away.

'Seriously, Cas, it's not your fault.'

'And this is why Dean's upset?'

'Yeah. He thought that once Dad had taken care of Azazel and his gang, then he could come home and we'd be a real family…'

'Sam…'

'It's okay. Really. Dad's never been a staying still kind of guy. I doubt it would have been a good idea for him to come back here anyway.' Sam smiled a little too brightly and got up. 'Don't worry about Dean. He'll be fine. Bye Cas.'

Cas watched him go, waiting for the shaking in his legs to subside before he went to his lessons.

John could barely stand walking around Hogwarts over the next few weeks. The Slytherins had all taken great delight in both his and Harry's articles in the  _Prophet_ , and several of them made kissy faces at him whenever they saw him. Many others, including Malfoy, would deliberately run into him in the hallways.

'Just making sure you're in the real world,' they would say gleefully as they walked off.

Meanwhile, Hermione became furious with the lot of them, and repeatedly went between them and Ron to try and force them to talk again. Harry outright refused, as did Sherlock and Dean. John almost felt like talking to him a few times, but then someone would glare at him and he would be reminded that everyone, including Ron, believed that he had helped Harry cheat his way into the tournament.

'Come on, John,  _someone_ has to make the first move,' Hermione pleaded with him.

'Yeah, and I think it should be Ron. He's the one in the wrong here,' John said. 'Besides, he won't listen to me, I'm in on it, remember. It's probably going to take Harry being almost killed for him to get his head out of his backside.'

'That's not funny, John,' Hermione frowned.

'It's not meant to be funny, Hermione. Honestly, he's the least of my concerns right now, and I'm not about to waste my energy on someone who refuses to be convinced.'

Hermione huffed. 'You're just in a bad mood because of that article.'

At that moment a few Slytherins walked past, sniggering and making faces at him.

'Yeah, I am.'

Hermione sighed. 'Fine. Are you coming to Hogsmeade with us?'

'Who's us?'

'Me, Harry, Cas and probably Sherlock.'

John shrugged. 'Okay, then.'

Hermione rolled her eyes and walked off to the library.

The Saturday before the First Task, they all met up in the Entrance Hall. Sherlock and Castiel were the first to arrive.

'No Dean?' Sherlock asked.

Cas nodded at the other side of the room and John turned around to see Dean walking past with a laughing Katie Bell.

'Ah.'

Cas grimaced slightly, but didn't say anything.

They were joined shortly by John, and then by Hermione, who was accompanied by what John thought was an almost transparent, misty cloud.

'Where's Harry?' Cas asked.

'I'm here.' Harry's voice seemed to come from within the cloud.

'He's under the Cloak,' Hermione said, clearly irritated.

'Okay, then, let's go,' said John.

As they walked to the village, most of the nasty comments were directed towards John, though they were easier to ignore while they walked as a group. Hermione, however, was still not impressed.

They spent a little time in Honeydukes, but Hermione snapped as they came out.

'Come  _on,_ Harry, please just take off your Cloak for a bit. No one's going to bother you here.'

'Oh yeah?' Came Harry's voice. 'Look behind you.'

Rita Skeeter and her photographer friend had just emerged from the Three Broomsticks.

John groaned, but there was nowhere to hide, and she came over to them sporting a dazzling smile, and shimmering slightly.

'What do you want?' John said shortly.

'Oh, I just wanted to see how you were getting on. Have any visions lately?' she asked innocently.

John burst into derisive laughter and shook his head. 'That's funny,' he said to her. He then walked away, forcing the others to follow him into the Three Broomsticks, where she wouldn't possibly be able to hear what they were saying, packed as it was by Hogwarts students.

Cas bought them all a Butterbeer each and they sat in a less densely packed corner, passing Ron on the way.

Though no one could see Harry, it didn't stop them from discussing what dangers the champions might face during the First Task.

'I don't suppose you've seen anything?,' Harry asked John nervously from under the Cloak.

'No, sorry. I'm not really supposed to try and look either.'

'I don't see why you shouldn't,' Sherlock said. 'Who would know?'

'I don't want to get in trouble,' said John.

'I think it's more about keeping Harry alive at this point,' Cas said quietly, taking a sip of his Butterbeer.

'You all think I should cheat?'

They all nodded and Harry said, 'I wouldn't mind.'

John looked around furtively. 'Give me your hand,' he muttered.

Harry's arm appeared on its own and looked as if it was floating in mid-air. John grabbed it and closed his eyes. The Task was the following Tuesday, so he attempted to focus on that. He felt more than he saw, and what he did see was too hazy for him to make out. It immediately began to hurt his head, but he forced himself to stay in it. Everything around him blazed with heat and he felt himself sweating, but waited, trying to see through.

'John, stop.' He heard Sherlock's voice, but ignored him. It got hotter and hotter, and then suddenly the air around him was searing. It took his breath away and his skin felt like it was on fire. He screamed before he could stop himself and Sherlock yanked his hand away from Harry's.

The pub reappeared but he was still burning up and he couldn't force his lungs to take in enough air.

'Help me cool him down,' he heard Sherlock say, and he was blasted by cool air from three different wands. A goblet of water was shoved in his face and he gulped down what he could. His chest loosened enough for him to breathe better, but was still extremely tight.

Nearly everyone in the pub was staring at him, but he couldn't move. At some point, Hagrid had come in with Mad-Eye Moody, and they both came over to their table.

'Let's get him outside,' Moody growled.

Hagrid lifted him up and carried him outside, and they were followed out by the rest of their group.

Once outside, John finally went limp in Hagrid's arms, and Harry pulled off his Cloak.

'Did he see anything?' Moody asked Sherlock.

Sherlock shook his head. 'Whatever it was, it was extremely hot.' Sherlock put a hand to John's cheek. It was still blazing. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Rita Skeeter watching from a little way down the street, and her photographer discretely raised his camera.

Cas reacted first.  _'Expelliarmus!'_ A jet of red light shot across the street and hit the camera, sending it flying.

The photographer swore loudly, but they ignored him.

'We should get him to the hospital wing,' Cas frowned. 'We can't let him stay at this temperature.' He conjured a stretcher, and Hagrid gently lowered John into it.

Hagrid then pressed a note into Harry's hand and turned around. 'Do yeh need help up to the castle?' he asked loudly.

'We should be fine, thank you, Hagrid,' Cas said, taking charge of the situation. 'We don't all have to go,' he added.

Harry shrugged. 'I don't really feel like sticking around. Hermione?'

'No point in staying on my own,' she said. 'I've got more things I can do in the library.'

Cas nodded, then waved his wand and the stretcher moved forward.

They walked through the village quietly, and once they'd passed the last building, Harry unfurled the note that Hagrid had given him.

_Meet me at my cabin tonight at midnight. Wear your cloak._

'What does he want to meet you that late for?' Hermione asked.

'No idea,' said Harry.

Hermione frowned. 'I don't know if it's a good idea. It might make you late for Sirius.'

'I think you should go,' Cas said. 'It's clearly important, otherwise he would never ask you to leave the castle so late at night.'

'That's a good point.'

At that moment, John jerked in the stretcher, almost tipping it over, and whimpered.

'What's happening?' Cas asked, gritting his teeth, trying to keep it floating.

'A nightmare, I think,' Sherlock said. He pressed his hand against John's burning forehead. It was the same vision he'd had moments ago, but thankfully without the heat this time. 'Just a nightmare,' he confirmed.

Harry and Hermione accompanied them up to the hospital wing, to make sure John was okay, but eventually drifted off on their own.

As dusk fell, John's temperature began to drop back down to normal with help from Castiel, and several, almost frozen, blankets that Cas tucked around him. Now satisfied that he would be okay, Cas turned to Sherlock and handed him a goblet of water. Sherlock took it but didn't drink it.

'He's going to be fine,' Cas said gently.

Sherlock nodded. 'I know that.'

'But you worry?'

'Of course.'

John turned over in his sleep, mumbling slightly.

Cas hesitated before he spoke next. 'Maybe you should tell him,' he suggested.

Sherlock didn't say anything at first, then, 'Perhaps you should take your own advice,' he said, a slight, scathing edge to his voice.

Cas flinched, then sighed. 'Whatever you say, Sherlock.' Cas walked away and began tidying up the hospital wing, then placed a jug of water at John's bedside.

Sherlock waited patiently for John to wake up, slowly sipping his water.

It wasn't long until John began to stir. He was confused at first, but then realised what had happened.

'How are you feeling?' Sherlock asked.

'Hot,' John said. 'Is there water?'

'On your bedside table.'

John pushed himself up and drank two goblets before he felt any better. 'Well, that was fun,' he said once he was finished.

Sherlock chuckled quietly.

'Weird vision.'

'I think you were being blocked again,' Sherlock said. 'Whoever is doing this doesn't want you to help Harry.'

'There's a surprise. Just what I get for trying to cheat,' John said, rubbing his eyes. 'Whatever it was, it was hot.'

'What could the champions be facing, that's hot, will attack the champions, and Hagrid knows what it is?' Sherlock said. As soon as he'd said it out loud, he knew. 'Dragons,' he murmured.

John groaned, knowing that Sherlock was right.

Cas heard what he said and shivered. He remembered Norbert, and could only imagine what a fully grown dragon might be like.

'We should tell Harry,' said John.

'I think Hagrid's already doing that,' Sherlock told him. 'So technically, you won't have done anything wrong.'

'That's comforting.'

'Are you staying here for the night?' Sherlock asked.

'Yeah, why not. I don't really feel like going anywhere.'

Sherlock smiled. 'I'll stay with you.'

Cas rolled his eyes, then wandered off down the ward, where his own bed waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to bluejaythebeautiful, rainingcatz, Because_We_Match and hhhelcat for the comments! Hope you enjoyed it and I'll see you again in two weeks.


	18. The First Task

The next morning, Harry and Hermione rushed down to the hospital wing, where John, Sherlock and Cas were getting ready to leave. 

‘The First Task,’ Harry said breathlessly. ‘It’s-’

‘Dragons, yes, we know,’ said Sherlock, straightening his robes.

‘How do you know?’

John raised a hand.

‘Oh, did you see-?’

‘No, not really, but Sherlock worked it out.’

Just then, the door opened and Dean came in, who stopped in his tracks. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘We’re all here. Good. What’s going on?’

‘Nothing much,’ John said grumpily. ‘I passed out yesterday, and Harry met some dragons. You missed it.’

‘I see that.’ He gave John a confused look. ‘Any particular reason why you’re so upset that I missed it?’

‘I-’ John clamped his mouth shut and thought about it for a moment. ‘No, actually. Sorry.’

Dean shrugged.

‘If you didn’t know we were here, why are you here?’ Sherlock asked.

‘No reason,’ Dean said hurriedly. ‘So Harry met dragons? That’s wild.’

‘Yeah, Ron’s brother Charlie was there and he said we have to get past them, for the First Task or something,’ Harry said.

‘And do you have a plan yet?’

Harry shook his head. ‘But listen, there’s something else. I spoke to Sirius last night and he told me to watch out for Karkaroff, ‘cause he used to be a Death Eater.’

There were shocked exclamations from everyone but Dean.

‘Pfft, that guy? Nah, he’s harmless. I mean, have you seen him?’

‘Someone put Harry’s name in,’ Cas said quietly. 

‘Well sure, but I don’t think it was Karkaroff, and I’m thinking we have bigger problems right now, say, that giant, fire breathing dragon he has to face on Tuesday. So anybody got any ideas?’

Nobody said anything.

‘Okay, awesome. Let’s split into groups and see what we can do. We’re not allowed to ask any of the teachers for help, are we?’ 

Hermione shook her head.

‘All right, in that case, take Harry for a walk and see if you can’t think of anything. Cas, we’re gonna need some of that burn paste and anything else that you can think of that would be good for protection against a dragon. Harry, do you know what breeds they were?’

‘Yeah, Charlie said them.’

‘Great, write them down for me. I’m going to find Sam and we’ll go to the library and see what we can find. Cas, you know much about specific breeds?’

‘Not especially.’

‘Okay, no problem, we’ll come up with something. You two,’ he said, pointing at John and Sherlock, ‘go up to Trelawney’s room and see if you can’t see anything else.’

‘I don’t think I can,’ said John. ‘Someone’s blocking me and I can’t see the First Task at all, really.’

Dean thought about it for a moment. ‘Okay, well, why don’t you try and see anything from after it, and see if you can hear anyone talking about it after. Maybe that’ll give us a clue of some kind.’

‘Yeah, that’s actually a good idea.’

‘It happens to everyone,’ Dean shrugged. ‘All right, everyone good? Let’s meet up and lunch and we’ll figure out where to go from there.’

 

By lunchtime, they were all tired, and thoroughly dejected. John could barely hold his head up, after spending the morning trying fruitlessly to force his visions. He picked at his food, not listening to what anyone was saying.

Cas had produced several tubs of burn paste, as well as some murtlap essence. He passed them to Harry, hands shaking. ‘If you rub exposed skin with the murtlap essence, it should give you a little more resistance to cuts - or bites - I’m not sure if the paste will make any difference if applied beforehand, but it can’t hurt to try.’

‘Thanks, Cas,’ Harry said, pocketing them.

All Sam and Dean had found were stacks upon stacks of dragon care, but nothing on how to fight them.

‘But if we ever need to clip a dragon’s toenails, we’ll be prepared,’ Sam joked, trying to lighten the mood, but no one laughed.

‘All right, we can do this,’ Dean insisted. ‘There has to be something. Let’s all go back up to the library-’

John interrupted by falling asleep and slipping out of his seat. 

‘-except you, John, you should probably go to bed.’

John grunted in agreement, and stumbled out of the Great Hall.

‘Let’s go,’ Dean said.

Back up in the library, they all re-examined the books that Sam and Dean had been looking through, in case they had missed something.

‘What if it’s not about the dragons themselves?’ Hermione said eventually, closing a book titled  _ Men Who Love Dragons Too Much.  _ ‘After all, you just need to get  _ past  _ it.’

‘Let’s start with the basics,’ Sherlock said. He hadn’t exactly been reading, but he had been thinking as best he could, though frustrated at John’s exhaustion affecting him. 

‘Simple spellbooks, then,’ Dean nodded, helping Sam gather up the dragon books. ‘Everyone fan out and get as many as you can find.’

The stacks of dragon books were soon replaced by spellbooks, and each of them flipping through them for inspiration.

Hermione was muttering under her breath, but eventually, Cas said, ‘There’s a reason why we wear dragon-hide gloves in Herbology. Dragon-hide is resistant to most spell, hexes, poisons - you name it.’

The only thing Dean said in response was, ‘There has to be something.’

The day had yielded nothing, however. Sam went back to the Hufflepuff dormitory, and Cas up to the hospital wing to finish his potions. The rest of them went back to Gryffindor Tower, feet dragging and heads down. John was still asleep, so Sherlock lay across the sofa, while Harry sat in his favourite chair with his head in his hands, Hermione continued to mutter, and Dean paced back and forth in front of the fire. After a while, Dean looked up at them all.

‘We should all get some sleep,’ he said. ‘We won’t think of anything else if we fry our brains.’

Harry sighed, and nodded. He said nothing, but dragged himself up to the boys’ dormitory.

Hermione bit her lip, but reluctantly agreed.

Dean made sure they were both gone, and that Sherlock was comfortable on the sofa, before finally going to bed himself.

 

Monday was filled with a barely contained anxiety, where they were all floating through their lessons, preoccupied, and making a lot of mistakes. The teachers were sure to notice, but thankfully none of them mentioned it. John was still trying to fix on the day after the First Task, but couldn’t seem to stop jumping around to different times, and none of them helpful. He had a migraine by Herbology, and had to stop and keep an eye on the Venomous Tentacula, instead of trying to force more visions. Molly seemed to know what was happening and did most of the work on the Flutterby Bush they were meant to be pruning, most likely to stop John from accidentally cutting himself with the shears. She didn’t say much either, which John was glad of.

Harry came in to Herbology late, and whispered something to Hermione, but John didn’t hear what it was. 

At lunch, Harry and Hermione headed off to find an empty classroom without eating. John went with them, not feeling particularly hungry.

‘So, what’s the plan?’ he asked them, sitting heavily at a table.

‘Summoning Charm,’ Harry said. ‘I’m going to Summon my broom and fly past the dragon.’

‘That sounds like a good idea, actually.’

‘Yeah, except I can’t do the Summoning Charm yet.’

‘That could be a problem.’

‘Yeah, well, we’ve got a day to practice. That’ll have to be enough.’

John grimaced, but dozed off until Harry woke him to go up to Divination. He groaned, but decided to sit in the back where Professor Trelawney couldn’t see him. 

Harry wasn’t so lucky. Trelawney spent half the lesson informing the class that the current position of Mars in relation to Saturn meant that people born in July were in great danger of sudden, violent deaths.

‘Well, that’s good,’ Harry said loudly, his temper getting the better of him, ‘just as long as it’s not drawn-out, I don’t want to suffer.’

John snorted, but it was muffled by his arms, which he had been lying on. It was very difficult not to fall asleep, but he managed it, and forced himself down to dinner. He still wasn’t hungry, but knew he had to eat something, so slowly ate some potatoes. 

Harry explained his plan to the others, and Dean nodded enthusiastically.

‘You’re a great flier. I bet it’ll go really well. Let’s practice some more.’ Dean shovelled down the rest of his food and practically dragged Harry back up to the common room.

Sherlock stopped John on his way up, but he seemed just as tired as John was.

‘All right?’ John mumbled.

Sherlock nodded.

‘Sleep?’

Sherlock nodded again.

John gestured for Sherlock to come with him. They walked past everyone helping Harry with his Summoning Charm, and they both passed out on John’s bed.

 

The next morning, the morning of the First Task, everyone hurried down to breakfast. The rest of the students were buzzing in anticipation. Lessons were finishing at midday that day, so they were happily speculating on what the task would be.

Dean was drilling Harry on his technique, Cas sat, staring at his cereal, and John and Sherlock watched, both feeling quite helpless now that the time had come.

They drifted through the morning’s lessons, none of them paying attention, and soon, Professor McGonagall was coming towards them in the Great Hall at lunch.

‘Potter, the champions have to come down to the grounds now… you have to get ready for the First Task.’

‘Okay.’ Harry dropped his fork and stood up.

‘Good luck,’ Hermione whispered. ‘Remember to focus.’

‘You’ve got this,’ Dean murmured.

‘Yeah.’ Harry left with McGonagall.

Cas then stood as well. ‘I should go,’ he said. ‘I’m helping Madam Pomfrey in the first aid tent.’

‘What? Since when?’ Dean said.

Cas shrugged.

‘Is that a good idea?’

‘That’s not up to you, Dean.’ He walked away before Dean could say anything else.

John, whilst feeling a lot more alert than he had the day before, couldn’t bear to try and eat anything else. ‘Might as well go down,’ he said to Sherlock. ‘Coming?’ he said to the rest of them.

None of them seemed very interested in their food either, so they made their way out into the grounds. 

A slow trickle of students were already on their way down to the edge of the forest, where they were being directed along by the teachers.

They made their way around the trees and found themselves staring at stands almost as big as the Quidditch pitch that was slowly filling with people, circling an enclosure full of rocks. It was also very high up off the ground and John heard Sherlock gulp. There was no sign of the dragons yet, but John could hear them on the other side of the enclosure.

There were two tents set up near the entrance, one for the champions, and one for first aid. Since they were early, they got good seats and nervously waited for the task to start, with Dean glancing down at the tents every few seconds.

The stands filled, and the chatter was loud, then, the far end of the stands became filled with activity.

Dragon trainers were bringing in the first dragon. It’s scales were silvery blue, dazzling the crowd. John inhaled sharply. The only dragon he’d ever seen before was Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback, and he had been a baby. This one was full-grown, and angry. Her eggs were brought in beside her, and laid down on the floor, along with one golden egg.

‘What dragon is that?’ John asked.

‘Swedish Short-Snout,’ Sherlock said.

The dragon trainers retreated to the outside edge of the enclosure, and Ludo Bagman hurried to the judges box, halfway around the stands, as a whistle was blown.

‘Welcome, everyone, to the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament!’ Bagman announced, once again taking the position of commentator.  ‘For this task, the champions must use all of their daring and nerve, each facing a dragon to retrieve their very own golden egg! First up, against the Swedish Short-Snout, Mr Cedric Diggory!’

The crowd cheered as Cedric, visibly pale even at this distance, walked in from the other end.

The dragon didn’t see him a first, as he cautiously approached it. Then it smelled him, and turned towards him, growling, but unwilling to leave her eggs.

Cedric looked as though he was thinking for a moment, then drew his wand and cast his eyes around. He pointed his wand at a small rock, and they all watched in amazement as he Transfigured it into a golden retriever. 

It ran towards the dragon, then swerved around in front of it. It’s great, silvery head followed the dog around, still growling.

Cedric took advantage of the dragon’s distraction, and made a dash for the egg. He grabbed it, and ran away, as the crowd cheered wildly, but on his way back, the dragon noticed him again, and it unleashed blindingly blue fire. Cedric dodged out of the way, but not quickly enough, and half of his face was engulfed.

The dragon tamers were on the Short-Snout as soon as Cedric had run out of the way, and he was escorted inside the first-aid tent by Professor Sprout.

The dragon was then removed from the enclosure, along with her eggs.

They waited until Cedric emerged from the tent, half of his face slathered in a thick layer of the burn paste.

‘Very good, indeed!’ Bagman shouted. ‘And now, the marks from the judges!’

Madame Maxime raised her wand first, and a ribbon twisted out of the end of it forming the number six. Then Mr Crouch, who gave him a seven. Professor Dumbledore shot out another seven, Professor Karkaroff a five, and Bagman another six.

There was another cheer, and Cedric went back inside the first aid tent.

Once he was gone, the dragon tamers gathered at the far end of the enclosure and brought out another dragon, with her eggs, and a golden one. This dragon was slightly smaller, and deep green in colour.

‘Common Welsh Green,’ Sherlock murmured to John.

The whistle blew again.

‘One down, three to go!’ Bagman yelled. ‘Miss Delacour, if you please!’

Fleur came marching out of the champion’s tent, her head held high and clutching her wand.

She wasted no time in planting herself firmly in front of it and raising her wand. She caught the dragon’s eye, and began waving her wand in a hypnotic rhythm. The dragon followed the movements with her head until she began to droop. Fleur took no risks, and continued to wave her wand until she was completely certain the dragon was asleep. She took a step forward, and the dragon snored, letting out a long jet of fire, catching Fleur’s skirt. She quickly doused the flame with a stream of water from her wand, and appeared to be unhurt. She walked slowly up to the golden egg, carefully to make sure she didn’t wake the dragon. She picked it up and backed slowly away from the dragon, not taking her eyes off of it until she was a safe distance away. 

The crowd burst into applause, and woke up the dragon, but the tamers encircled it, and removed it from the enclosure.

There was no need for Fleur to go to the first-aid tent, so the judges gave her her marks straight away. A seven from Madame Maxime, a six from Crouch and Dumbledore, and a five each from Karkaroff and Bagman.

Fleur walked away, and then another dragon was brought into the enclosure.

It was skinny, bright red, and had a crown of golden spikes circling its head.

‘Chinese Fireball,’ said Sherlock.

Its eggs were arranged around it, as was the third golden egg. A whistle was blown.

‘And, here comes Mr Krum!’ Bagman cried, as Krum slouched into the enclosure.

He eyed up the dragon, and it him. He pointed his wand at the dragon and yelled something. A jet of orange light shot from his wand and hit the dragon right in the eye. It let out a terrible, loud shriek, and stumbled around the enclosure. Krum darted around the dragon towards the golden egg. He dodged it as it stumbled, narrowly missing being crushed underfoot several times, though many of its eggs were not so lucky. 

Finally, Krum scooped up the egg and dashed away, waiting on the outer edge while they took the dragon away. It was still squealing by the time the tamers had taken it out of the enclosure.

He too received his marks from the judges straight away: A six from Madame Maxime, a five each from Crouch, Dumbledore, and Bagman, and a ten from Karkaroff.

At last, it was Harry’s turn.

Before he came out, the tamers brought out the final dragon. An evil-looking thing, black all over with razor-sharp spikes on its tail, as well as its head. It thrashed about violently, as the tamers brought it in, and they could barely contain it as they arranged the eggs.

‘Hungarian Horntail,’ Sherlock and John said in unison.

Sherlock blinked in surprise. ‘Is the curse wearing off?’

John shrugged. ‘I just don’t see how it could be called anything else.’

The final whistle blew, and Harry came out into the enclosure.

John held his breath, and heard everyone around him doing the same.

Harry raised his wand, and shouted, ‘ _ Accio Firebolt!’ _

They all waited, Harry staring down the dragon, then suddenly, Harry’s broom flew into the enclosure, and the crowd cheered wildly. He mounted and kicked off, flying higher and higher until he was no more than a pinprick. He flew around and around in circles, the Horntail watching him, head revolving in circles. Harry dove just as the dragon breathed a tongue of flame. It missed with the fire, but its tail came up to meet him, and a gasp resounded around the stands as it grazed his shoulder. He continued to fly around it, just out of reach of both fire and tail, which thrashed around. It was clearly itching to get at Harry, and with an exasperated roar, it finally took off. Harry waited for it to get a little height, then shot down, scooping up the egg, and soared away.

John let out a great sigh of relief, leaning back in his seat and putting his hands on his head. 

Dean hollered loudly, jumping on his toes. 

Harry landed once the dragon had been removed from the enclosure, and was escorted to the first aid tent by Hagrid and Professor McGonagall.

Dean was the first to get up and go down to the tent, eager to check on Cas, with Sam close behind.

The tent was divided into cubicles. Madam Pomfrey was in a closed one with Cedric, and Cas was standing near the entrance. His jaw was clamped shut, but he was grinding something up in a pestle and mortar, staring at it intently.

Dean touched him on the shoulder, and he dropped the mortar, making a strange, strangled inhaling sound.

‘Just me,’ Dean said, picking up the mortar. He tried to give it back to Cas, but his hand had balled into a tight fist.

‘Are they gone?’ he whispered through gritted teeth.

‘Yeah, they’re gone.’

Cas sighed, dropped the pestle as well, and put his head in his hands, staggering heavily to the side.

Dean put his arms out to catch him if needed. ‘What can I do? Do you need anything?’ he asked in concern.

Cas shook his head.

Just then, John and Sherlock came in.

John blinked and squinted at Cas. ‘Cas, are you  _ glowing?’  _ he said.

Cas’s head snapped up, eyes wide and extremely blue. He frantically examined himself.

‘Are you seeing this?’ John asked Sherlock, staring.

Sherlock nodded slowly.

‘I don’t see anything,’ Dean said, looking Cas up and down, lingering on the eyes for a moment.

‘Me either,’ said Sam.

‘Okay, so, he  _ has _ glowed, or he  _ will  _ glow?’ John asked, still staring.

Cas began to get even more agitated.

‘What do you need?’ Dean said even more firmly.

Cas’s eyes swept the tent. ‘Gabriel,’ he finally murmured.

‘That’s easy, we can do that,’ Dean said. ‘Sam?’

‘On it,’ Sam said, already half way out of the tent.

‘Just sit down,’ Dean said softly to Cas, leading him into one of the cubicles.

John nudged Sherlock and they both suppressed giggles, not failing to notice the softness with which Dean spoke to Cas.

Harry then came out of his own cubicle, healed and ready for his scores. He made towards the entrance, but Hermione came darting inside, with Ron in tow.

‘You were amazing!’ she squealed. ‘You really were!’ She had fingernail marks on her face from where she had been clutching her face.

Ron, however, was pasty white, and was looking at Harry as if he were a ghost. Everyone stared at him for a moment, then he said in a serious tone, ‘Harry, whoever put your name in the Goblet, I - I reckon they’re trying to do you in!’

A tense silence filled the room.

‘Finally caught on, have you?’ Harry said coldly. ‘Took you long enough.’

Hermione looked nervously from Harry to Ron.

Ron opened his mouth, but Harry beat him to it.

‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Forget it.’

‘No,’ said Ron, ‘I should’ve-’

‘ _ Forget it.’ _

Ron grinned nervously, and Harry grinned back.

Then Ron turned to John. ‘Listen, mate-’

‘Yeah, yeah, it’s over with now,’ John said, rolling his eyes.

Then Hermione burst into tears.

‘There’s nothing to  _ cry  _ about,’ Harry said, bewildered.

‘You’re all so  _ stupid,’  _ she said, stomping her foot.

The entrance to the tent opened, and Sam had returned with a very flustered-looking Gabriel. He brought Gabriel to where Cas was sitting, and the rest of them went out to get Harry’s scores.

Cas had his hands tightly clasped in his lap, his whole body shaking.

Gabriel knelt in front of him. ‘Do you need to go?’ he said quietly.

Cas nodded jerkily. ‘I can’t - move,’ he forced out.

‘That’s okay, we’ll help you, right, Dean?’

‘Yeah, of course.’

‘Let’s just take this slow…’ Gabriel held Cas by the arms, and Dean put his hands either side of Cas’s waist. ‘Aaaaand up we go.’

Gabriel and Dean lifted him to his feet.

‘All right, hard part’s over, let’s go.’

‘Wait, if he needs to go to the hospital wing, shouldn’t he stay here with Madam Pomfrey?’ Dean asked.

‘We’re not going to the hospital wing,’ Gabriel said.

‘Then where?’

‘Somewhere safe.’

‘But-’

‘Not now, Dean,’ Gabriel said firmly. He lead Cas out through the back of the tent.

Cas briefly glanced back at Dean, and for a moment, Dean thought Cas’s eyes were almost luminous, but then he was gone and Dean was sure he had imagined it.

 

Harry ended up tying for first place with Krum, and on their way back up to the castle, Rita Skeeter jumped out at them, her acid-green robes blending perfectly with her Quick-Quotes Quill. ‘Congratulations, Harry!’ she beamed. ‘I wonder if you could give me a quick word? How you felt facing that dragon? How you feel  _ now  _ about the fairness of the scoring?’

‘Yeah, you can have a word,’ Harry said savagely. ‘ _ Goodbye.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone, sorry for neglecting this a bit. Thanks to fallingapartinside and hhhelcat for the comments! Hopefully see you all again soon!


	19. The House-Elf Liberation Front

Once everyone, bar Cas, finally returned to Gryffindor Tower, Fred and George had thrown a party in Harry’s honour, with mountains of food, flagons of pumpkin juice, and bottles of Butterbeer scattered over ever surface. They let off a few Wet-Start fireworks, so the air was filled with sparks and stars. Dean Thomas put up several, impressive banners that he had drawn himself, most depicting Harry circling the Horntail, but a few showed Cedric’s face on fire.

They all settled into the party, chatting happily and eating the food, until people began asking Harry about his golden egg.

‘Blimey, this is heavy,’ Lee Jordan said, lifting it from the table Harry had set it on. ‘Open it, Harry, go on! Let’s just see what’s inside it!’

‘He’s supposed to work out the clue on his own,’ Hermione said swiftly. ‘It’s in the Tournament rules…’

Dean leaned down and muttered in her ear, ‘He was supposed to figure out how to get past the dragon on his own, too,’ and she grinned sheepishly.

‘Go on, Harry, open it!’ several more people echoed.

Lee passed it to Harry, and he dug his fingernail into the groove that ran all the way around it. He prised it open, but it was completely hollow, and a horrible, wailing shriek filled the room. Everyone covered their ears, including John, though it sounded a little muffled to him, but he couldn’t work out why.

‘Shut it!’ Fred bellowed.

‘What was that?’ Seamus gasped as Harry slammed the egg shut.

Neville had gone extremely pale. ‘It sounded like someone being tortured!’ he exclaimed. ‘You’re going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!’

‘Don’t be a prat, Neville, that’s illegal,’ George said. ‘They wouldn’t use the Cruciatus Curse on champions. I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing… maybe you’ve got to attack him in the shower, Harry…’

‘Want a jam tart, Hermione?’ Fred said, offering her one.

She looked at it suspiciously.

‘Don’t worry, we haven’t done anything to it. It’s the custard creams you have to watch out for-’

Neville choked and spat out the one he’d just taken a bite of.

Fred laughed. ‘Just my little joke, Neville.’

Hermione took a jam tart. ‘Did you get all this from the kitchens?’ she asked.

‘Yep,’ said Fred, grinning at her. ‘The house-elves are dead helpful. They’d bring me a roast ox if I said I was peckish.’

‘How do you get in there?’ Hermione asked in a casual, innocent sort of voice.

‘It’s easy,’ said Fred. ‘Concealed door behind a painting of a fruit bowl. You tickle the pear and it giggles, and-’ He stopped and looked at her suspiciously. ‘Why?’

‘Nothing,’ she said quickly.

Before Fred could say anything else, Neville caused a distraction by turning into a large canary.

‘Oh - sorry, Neville!’ Fred shouted over the laughter. ‘I forgot - it _was_ the custard creams we hexed!’

Within a minute Neville had fully moulted, and even joined in with the laughter.

‘Canary Creams!’ Fred shouted. ‘George and I invented them - Seven Sickles each, bargain!’

Sherlock, however, had not noticed, and John found him in a corner, staring into space.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘I recognise that sound,’ Sherlock said.

‘You recognised _that?’_ John said.

‘Yes, but I can’t _remember.’_

John blinked in surprise. ‘You can’t remember?’

‘No.’

‘ _You?’_

‘Everyone forgets things sometimes,’ Sherlock said grumpily.

‘But-’

‘I’m fine. Stop.’

John sighed, and moved away. ‘You can be such an arse sometimes, you know,’ he said.

‘That’s a core aspect of my personality, John, I would have thought you would be used to it by now,’ Sherlock shot back.

Sherlock eventually went back to his own dormitory, and the rest of them stayed up well into the night to enjoy the party.

  


A few days later, Castiel still hadn’t returned to class, and Dean began to worry. No matter how many times he asked Gabriel, he could never get a straight answer, and the one time he asked John to look, all he said was, ‘It’s private. Gabriel says he’s fine and that’s enough for me.’

‘Does that mean you know, or you haven’t looked?’

‘It means I haven’t looked,’ John said stubbornly.

Then one morning, Dean went down the breakfast, and there was Castiel, a stack of books next to him at the table, a goblet of pumpkin juice, and a bowl of half-eaten, cold porridge.

‘Hey, are you all right?’ Dean asked, sliding into the seat next to him.

‘Yes,’ Cas said, without looking up from the book he was reading.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Catching up on the classes I missed.’

Dean examined what little he could see of Cas’s face. He looked pale, and there was a twitch in his cheek.

‘Cas-’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Can I help?’

‘Help?’ Cas finally looked up, confused by Dean’s offer, purple ringing his eyes.

‘Yeah, what do you need to catch up on? I did fourth year already, maybe I can help.’

Cas opened his mouth, but then a letter dropped in front of him. He looked at it curiously, then his eyes widened in horror, and he tried to push himself away from it, but it exploded, sending a wave of heat outwards. Cas’s books flew everywhere, one narrowly missing hitting Dean in the face.

He waved the smoke away. ‘Cas!’ He heard nothing but a whimper, so he reached out to grab Cas’s hand, but Cas snatched it away, crying out. The smoke cleared and Dean saw Cas’s hands were badly burned, and Cas staring at them. ‘What should I do?’ Dean asked.

‘M-m-my pocket,’ Cas said hoarsely.

Dean hastily dug into Cas’s robes until he found a small pot of leftover burn paste. He untwisted the cap and scooped out the paste, dabbing it on Cas’s wounds. ‘Stay still,’ he murmured, Cas’s hands jerking at his touch.

Gabriel appeared at the table, but Dean didn’t take notice of him until Cas’s hands were covered in the paste.

‘What the hell was that?’ Dean asked, once he was finished.

Cas looked as if he was going to throw up and shook his head.

‘Wait, I remember this. There was a kid, years ago, who kept getting these letters. Was that you?’

Cas nodded.

‘Who were they from?’

‘Not now, Dean,’ Gabriel interrupted. ‘We have to get him upstairs.’

Cas shook his head. ‘No.’

‘No?’

‘I’m going to class.’

‘Cas, you can’t go to class,’ Dean said incredulously.

‘I can.’ Cas fumbled with his wand, then waved it and said, ‘ _Accio.’_ His books returned to him, then he repaired them, so they looked as though nothing had happened. He gingerly opened his bag and levitated the books inside it. He then levitated the bag itself and put his arms through the straps. ‘I’m fine,’ he said.

Dean and Gabriel gaped at him, but he simply walked away.

‘Who were the letters from?’ Dean asked Gabriel.

Gabriel hesitated, but sighed. ‘Our sister, Lucy.’

‘Your _sister?_ But she disappeared. Does this mean she’s back?’

‘I don’t know, Dean,’ Gabriel snapped. ‘I have to go.’

Dean groaned in frustration. ‘Why can’t I get a straight answer around here?’ he said to no one in particular.

  


December arrived with wind and sleet, forcing everyone into the castle and their warmest robes. Outside lessons were a nightmare, not knowing whether they would lose their fingers to frostbite, or to the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Hagrid attempted to find out whether or not they hibernated, but judging by the mess they made of the crates he prepared for them, they did not.

Trelawney’s room ended up being the warmest in the castle, so they were more than willing to put up with her dramatic predictions in order to sit in her classroom comfortably.

Harry now found the whole thing a lot more entertaining now that Ron was once again there to sit through it with him, though John remained as exasperated as he had always been.

John was leaning back in his seat, staring at the ceiling, one double Divination lesson, listening to Harry and Ron snigger through Trelawney’s explanation of the various ways Pluto could disrupt everyday life.

‘I would _think,’_ she said in a mystical voice that did not conceal her annoyance, ‘that _some_ of us-’ she stared meaningfully at Harry, ‘-might be a little less _frivolous_ had they seen what I have seen, during my crystal-gazing last night. As I sat here, absorbed in my needlework, the urge to consult the orb overpowered me-’

‘You know, the urge to consult the orb has never once overpowered me,’ John muttered to Harry and Ron, who struggled to control their laughter.

‘-I arose, I settled myself before it, and I gazed into its crystalline depths… and what do you think I saw gazing back at me?’

‘An ugly old bat in outsize specs?’ Ron muttered under his breath.

‘ _Death,_ my dears.’

John rolled his eyes.

‘Yes,’ said Trelawney, nodding impressively, ‘it comes, ever closer, it circles overhead like a vulture, ever lower… ever lower over the castle…’

‘ _Ah!’_ John gasped, leaning forward. A sharp jolt shot through his chest, and something flashed across his vision, but it was gone too quickly for him to grasp it.

‘Is everything all right, dear?’ Trelawney asked in concern.

‘Yeah,’ John said, rubbing his chest and wincing uncomfortably. ‘Fine.’

At the end of the lesson, Harry and Ron went off to find Hermione, but John went to track down Sherlock, hoping they were thinking the same thing.

They bumped into each other on the stairs leading down to the Entrance Hall.

‘Outside?’ Sherlock said immediately.

John nodded, and they both braved the bitter cold outside.

They made their way to the edge of the Forest, where John always felt stronger, as well as for shelter from the biting wind.

‘Do you think the curse is wearing off?’ John asked Sherlock, sitting down next to a wide tree trunk.

‘Only one way to find out. Try and see the second task.’

John frowned doubtfully. ‘That’s quite far away.’

‘It’s the only way we’ll know for sure,’ Sherlock said. ‘We know someone was blocking you from the first task, if the curse is still in effect, you won’t be able to see the second.’

‘I might not be able to see it anyway.’

‘I think you’ll be able to tell the difference.’

John nodded and closed his eyes, bracing himself. First, he imagined the golden egg, the clue and only connection to the second task. He held an image of it in his mind and tried to follow it, but he jerked as he hit what felt like a wall.

‘Keep going.’

John nodded and tried to push past it, and to his surprise, felt it waver. It didn’t break, but he caught a glimpse of something dark and moving on the other side, before snapping back to himself.

‘Not bad,’ Sherlock said approvingly. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Cold,’ John said. ‘It’s wearing off, but it’s not gone yet.’

‘Only a matter of time, then. Shall we go in?’

John hesitated, gazing through the trees into the darkness. He hated how chaotic everything was inside the castle, and how hard it was to see anything through the swirl of emotion and entangled futures. It was always clearer in the Forest. He sighed and got to his feet. The closer he got to the castle, the more he could feel himself being tugged in all directions. He hoped the curse would wear off soon, then he could at least feel a little more in control.

He was deep in thought as they crossed back through the Entrance Hall, so much so that he jumped violently when Moody passed him and said, ‘All right there, Watson?’

‘Yes, sir,’ he said, gathering himself. ‘Sorry.’

‘No need for that. You’ve clearly got things to think about.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Moody walked away, and John and Sherlock carried on up to Gryffindor Tower. It was warmer in there, so John took off his cloak and draped it over one of the chairs, choosing to lean on it rather than sit on it.

Dean was already there with Castiel, getting his help on his Astronomy homework.

‘Hey, guys,’ he grinned, tossing the parchment aside.

John smiled. ‘I thought you were getting Katie to help you with your homework,’ he said.

‘Yeah, but that’s not actually to do homework. Cas is helping me actually get it done so I don’t fail my O.W.L,’ Dean said.

Cas scowled, but so Dean couldn’t see him. John sniggered, but stopped at Cas’s expression.

‘Maybe you could have a look for me,’ Dean grinned. ‘See how well I do.’

‘Nice try,’ John smiled. ‘It’s too far away.’

‘Lame.’

John laughed, but then was accosted by a blinding pain in his head. The whole room vibrated, blurring the alarmed faces looking at him. ‘ _Sherlock!’_ he cried, holding his head. ‘What’s happening?’ Then he recognised the sensation and panic rose in his chest. ‘No,’ he stammered. ‘No, no, no, not again.’ He was yanked away from the room and fell through images upon images, none of them clear, and all slipping away too quickly. Drawn ever further, he couldn’t find his way back, until he felt Sherlock in the distance.

‘ _I’m here,’_ his voice whispered. ‘ _Come to me.’_

He gratefully followed it as well he could, only faltering a few times, until the common room slowly came back into view. He gasped, shaking and sweating. Sherlock was holding his hand, and Castiel was kneeling in front of him. He slumped back in his seat, heart racing. ‘W-what’s happening to me?’

Sherlock shook his head.

‘I’m losing control, aren’t I?’ he looked around at the other two frantically, both of them wearing grim expressions. ‘The curse isn’t wearing off, it’s getting worse, isn’t it?’

Sherlock grimaced, unable to reassure him.

‘John-’ Dean began.

‘I’m scared.’

‘John, just breathe,’ Dean said. ‘We’ll figure this out, won’t we?’

Cas nodded fervently.

John ran both his hands through his hair. ‘I hate this. _I hate this!’_

Sherlock rubbed his back. ‘It’s all right,’ he murmured.

‘How is it?’ John demanded, turning on him with wide, fearful eyes. ‘There are so many ways this power could go wrong, and now someone’s trying to force it to happen.’

‘I won’t let it,’ Sherlock said in a quiet voice.

‘How?’ He looked at Sherlock desperately, but Sherlock said nothing. He pushed himself away and stumbled over to the portrait hole, bumping into Harry coming through it, but not stopping.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Ron asked, throwing himself down on the sofa.

‘Nearly lost him again,’ Sherlock mumbled.

‘What happened?’ Hermione asked.

‘The curse on him is getting stronger.’ Then Sherlock too departed.

‘That’s worrying,’ Hermione said once he’d left.

Cas shrugged. ‘I don’t see how we can do anything about it, unless we know who’s doing it. I’ve never even heard of a curse that can block a Seer, let alone how to counter it.’

‘Maybe Sam will find something,’ Dean said thoughtfully. ‘Where have you three been, anyway?’

‘The kitchens,’ Ron said. ‘Hermione’s trying to convince them to demand fair pay and time off.’

Hermione rolled her eyes. ‘They should have the right to fair pay and time off, same as the rest of us-’

‘ _Anyway,’_ Ron interrupted before Hermione could begin talking about S.P.E.W, ‘it turns out that Dobby works here now.’

‘Really?’ Cas said, face lighting up.

‘Who?’ said Dean.

‘The House-elf that tried to warn us about the Chamber of Secrets,’ Cas explained.

‘He’s still wearing that tie you gave him,’ Ron said.

Cas smiled, pleased.

‘Winky was there too,’ Hermione said. ‘Crouch’s elf. She didn’t seem quite as pleased about working at Hogwarts as Dobby did.’

‘She wouldn’t, would she? Loves Crouch more than anything. Don’t see why though,’ Ron said. ‘Same reason Percy does, I suppose.’ He sniggered thinking about it.

  


John did not return to Gryffindor Tower that night, and Sherlock found him the next morning, curled into a ball at the base of a tree not far into the Forest. He was asleep, but shivering violently, and snapped awake when Sherlock touched him.

‘It’s me,’ Sherlock said, grabbing him by the shoulders.

His cheeks were red and his eyes bloodshot, tear tracks still visible down his face.

‘You’re freezing. Come back to the castle-’

‘ _No.’_ John scrambled away, wrapping an arm around the tree trunk. ‘I can’t. Don’t make me.’

‘You can’t stay here.’

‘Why not? I feel better here.’

‘You can’t mean that.’

‘But I do. Please, Sherlock, don’t make me go back.’

Sherlock gathered him in his arms, and he sobbed into Sherlock’s shoulder.

‘I can’t do it,’ he wept.

‘I know it hurts,’ Sherlock said, ‘but we can’t fix it if we don’t go back.’

John shook his head. ‘I can’t,’ he whispered.

‘At least come to Hagrid’s,’ Sherlock suggested. ‘You need to warm up. It’s too cold out here.’

John pulled away and wiped his face. ‘Okay,’ he said eventually. ‘Hagrid’s.’

Sherlock helped him up and over to Hagrid’s hut. He knocked on the door, and Hagrid was surprised to see them, but let them in.

Sherlock sat John down and wrapped a blanket around him, while Hagrid made them some tea.

John sipped it gratefully, still shivering slightly.

‘John…’

John shook his head again. ‘No.’

‘But you have to-’

‘I don’t _have_ to do anything.’

Sherlock thought about it for a moment. ‘What about the others?’ he said. ‘What about Harry? He’s still in the Tournament, and he still needs us.’

John groaned and Sherlock held his hand.

‘You must be brave, John. We can solve this.’

‘I- I don’t know how.’

‘Neither do I, but we have to try.’

John held his head in his hands, but eventually nodded. ‘All right,’ he said, voice muffled by his fingers. ‘Okay, I’ll go.’

Sherlock smiled, relieved. ‘That’s more like it.’

‘Yeah, well, if I die, it’s your fault.’

‘You’re not going to die.’

‘Says you.’

‘Yes. Says me,’ Sherlock said firmly.

John reluctantly finished his tea, thanked Hagrid, and exited the hut. He bit his lip, staring up at the castle.

‘Be brave, John,’ Sherlock repeated.

John took a deep breath, and lead the way back.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to bluejaythebeautiful, hhhelcat and ams_park3r for the comments :) see you all next time.


	20. The Unexpected Task

The Unexpected Task

 

The Yule Ball was announced just before the last week of term, but the only one that seemed remotely happy about it was Dean. He immediately asked Katie Bell to go with him, who agreed.

The morning after it was announced, he sat himself down next to Castiel at breakfast, grinning.

‘So…’

Cas looked up from his breakfast. ‘So?’

‘Who are you going with?’

‘Going?’

‘You know, to the Ball, who are you going with?’

‘I’m not going.’

Dean looked aghast. ‘What? Why not?’

‘Gabriel and I always go home for Christmas.’

‘You can’t make an exception, just this once?’

‘No.’ Cas turned back to his breakfast, but didn’t eat much more of it, instead pushing it around with his spoon so Dean would stop talking to him.

Dean rolled his eyes, but then spotted John a little further down the table.

‘John, who are you going to the ball with?’ he called.

‘No one,’ he said moodily, watching Sherlock leave the room.

‘Jeez, what is everyone’s problem?’ Dean muttered to himself.

‘Probably that you’re the only one that enjoys large social gatherings,’ Cas reasoned. ‘It’s easy for you, but not for everyone else.’

‘You’re right. None of you have any social skills. Especially you.’

‘I resent that.’

‘I wasn’t asking you to like it.’

Cas got up. ‘I’m going to class, which you should also be doing.’

‘Nah. Who has time for class?’

Cas tutted, but didn’t argue with him any further.

 

Over the next couple of days, most of the girls around the castle came over all giggly. Harry was asked to the Ball by a few different girls, so shocked the first time that he said no without even thinking about it.

John himself was asked to go by a fifth year Hufflepuff. He almost said yes, but then he saw Sherlock walking past, and politely declined. Instead, he steeled himself to ask Sherlock.

The opportunity arose when they were alone at lunch. Hermione had dragged Harry and Ron up to the library, Cas was helping in the hospital wing, providing potions both for calming nerves, and his own, highly effective Pepperup Potion.

Sherlock was munching on a slice of toast, staring at the wall, deep in thought.

John’s palms were clenched closed and slick with sweat. ‘So,’ he said, in a thin attempt at a light tone. ‘You have a date for the Ball yet?’

‘I do,’ Sherlock said.

John faltered. ‘You- you do?’

‘Yes. You can meet her at the Ball.’

‘Oh,’ John said, deflated. ‘Good. Yes, I’d love to meet her. Anyway, best get going. Get down to the greenhouses- Herbology and everything.’

‘Have a good lesson.’

‘I- I will, Goodbye.’ He tripped over his seat on his way out, and all but ran out into the courtyard. ‘Stupid,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Of course he has a date.’ He kicked at a pebble, which clattered across the cobbles, then actually made his way to the greenhouses.

He was paired with Molly again, so they could continue working on their Flutterby bushes.

‘Okay, stop, you’re not pruning it, you’re giving it a close shave,’ Molly said, holding up a hand to stop John from angrily chopping at the quivering bush.

‘Sorry,’ John muttered.

Molly took the pruning shears and set about repairing the damage.

John watched her for a moment. She had always been kind to him, he thought. ‘Molly?’

‘What? I can’t make it into any shapes now, you’ve already cut it up too much.’

John smiled. ‘That’s not what I was going to say. Actually, I was going to ask if you’d like to go to the Ball with me?’

Molly dropped the shears, and they clanged loudly against the table. ‘Oh,’ Molly said, flustered. ‘I- yeah, okay, I’ll go with you.’

John grinned. ‘Good.’

‘Yeah. Good,’ Molly said, blushing.

 

Later on that day, Dean had gone to collect Castiel from the hospital wing, and they were walking across the Entrance Hall together, when a hush fell. The crowd parted before them and they came to a halt as Fleur Delacour appeared.

She stopped in front of Cas and said, ‘ _Tu veux aller au bal avec moi_ ?

Cas’s eyebrows shot up in shock, then he shook his head. ‘ _Je ne vais pas au bal_ _._ _’_

‘ _Ah, n_ _on?’_

‘ _Eh, n_ _on.’_

Her eyes travelled over to Dean. ‘ _Et pour ton am_ _i?’_

‘ _Il a déjà quelqu'un,’_ Cas told her.

‘ _C'est dommage. Il est plutôt beau gosse, non_ _?’_

‘ _Oui. Il a de beaux yeux.’_

 

It was Fleur’s turn to look surprised.

‘What? What did he say?’ Dean asked.

Fleur glanced at Cas, whose expression had turned anxious, and he shook his head slightly.

‘’E said zat ‘e likes your date.’

Cas sighed.

‘Really? You like Katie?’

‘Um, yes.’

‘I’ll see what I can do after Christmas. You might be in with a shot, you know.’

‘Great.’

Dean turned away, and Cas let his face betray his relief. _‘Merci,’_ he mumbled to Fleur, before following Dean into the Great Hall.

 

The Hogwarts staff, demonstrating a continued desire to impress the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, seemed determined to show the castle at its best at Christmas. During the final week of term, decorations more magnificent than any they had seen before appeared around the castle. Everlasting icicles hung from the marble staircase, and the twelve trees brought into the Great Hall were bedecked in every decoration imaginable, including real, golden owls that hooted as you walked past. The suits of armour had been enchanted to sing Christmas carols, but they kept forgetting the words, and Peeves the poltergeist had to be extracted from them several times, when he made up his own, rude versions of the songs to fill in the gaps.

 

Cas was sitting at lunch a couple of days before the end of term, admiring the Christmas trees, when Gabriel came bounding up to him.

‘Guess what?’ he grinned.

‘What?’

‘We’re going to the Yule Ball.’

Cas went pale. ‘What?’

‘Yeah. I asked Dad and he said we could stay here for Christmas, just as long as we go back for Easter.’

Cas looked horrified. ‘Why would you do that?’ he demanded.

Gabriel frowned. ‘I thought you would enjoy it.’

‘You thought wrong.’ Cas stood up, shaking. ‘I’m not going.’

‘But I got you dress robes.’

‘Cas, come on-’ Dean began.

‘Shut up, Dean.’

Dean’s mouth fell open.

‘I’m not going.’ Cas stormed out of the room.

‘What the hell?’ Dean said to Gabriel. ‘He’s never told me to shut up before.’

‘Maybe you could do with being told to shut up once in a while,’ Gabriel snapped. He rubbed his face, then left to try and find Cas.

 

By the last day of term, neither Harry or Ron had managed to find a date for the Ball, despite Harry being required to, and they moped about Gryffindor Tower.

‘Just ask someone. Anyone,’ Dean said exasperatedly.

‘What about Hermione?’ Harry said.

‘She has a date,’ Dean said.

‘Does she? Who?’ Ron asked, surprised.

‘You’ll see. What about Ginny? Harry could go with her.’

‘She’s going with Neville,’ John said from the other side of the room. He was curled up in a chair under the window, looking miserable.

‘What’s the matter with you? You have a date,’ Dean said, throwing a bit of screwed up parchment at him.

John tutted. ‘I’m fine,’ he insisted.

‘Sure you are.’ Dean dramatically threw himself down on one of the squashy sofas. ‘Well, Harry can’t go stag, but you sure can, Ron.’

‘No way! I can’t be the only one without a date.’

‘Then ask someone!’

‘You ask someone!’

‘I already did.’

Just then, Harry got up and went over to Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, who had just walked through the portrait hole.

‘Do you think he’s asking them?’ Dean whispered to Ron.

Ron shrugged.

They watched him, unable to make out what he was saying, but saw the girls burst into fits of giggles.

He came back to them, red in the face. ‘I’m going with Parvati, you’re going with her sister Padma,’ he said to Ron.

‘Excellent!’ Ron grinned, leaning back in his seat.

‘What about Cas? Who’s he going with?’ Harry asked, deflecting the attention away from himself.

Dean sighed. ‘He says he’s not going. He’s apparently just going to sit in his dorm all day.’

‘That’s no way to spend Christmas,’ John frowned.

‘Try telling him that. He still wants to go home, but Gabriel won’t let him.’

‘Looks like you’ll have to convince him.’

‘Yeah, right. That guy has a stubborn streak a mile long.’

‘Really?’

‘Dude, he told me to shut up over it.’

‘He actually told you to shut up?’

‘On my life.’

John sniggered. ‘He really doesn’t want to go, then.’

None of them went to bed until the fire had died to embers, but Dean stayed awake long after he laid himself down, thinking of ways to cajole Cas into going to the Ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to hhhelcat, fallingapartinside and OtakuElf for the comments! See you again next time!


	21. The Yule Ball

The Yule Ball

  


Despite Dean’s best efforts, he could not convince Cas to attend the Ball in the days leading up to Christmas, nor could Cas convince any of the others to do their homework.

‘I’ll do my homework if you go to the Ball,’ Dean had said.

Cas had glared at him, and left the Gryffindor common room without another word.

When the day finally arrived, a thick layer of snow blanketed the ground, and they all happily opened their Christmas gifts.

A note arrived for Dean, which he quickly read, then threw into the fire.

‘What was that?’ Ron asked, mouth full of the homemade mince pies Mrs Weasley had sent them.

‘Nothing,’ Dean shrugged. ‘I was expecting… something… but it’s not finished yet.’

‘Expecting what?’

‘Nothing important.’

The snow was untouched besides the deep tracks the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students had made making their way up to the castle, and they couldn’t resist hurrying out into grounds to start a snowball fight.

Gabriel joined them not long after they started, but there was no sign of Castiel.

‘He won’t come out of his dorm,’ Gabriel said in response to Dean’s questioning, after pelting Ron directly in the head with a snowball. ‘It’s a shame. He loves to throw snowballs.’

‘He does?’ Dean asked, throwing one at Harry, whose sharp Quidditch reflexes allowed him to duck just in time.

‘Oh sure. He beats me every time.’

Dean grinned. Once the Ball was over, he was sure he could convince Cas to come out into the snow. ‘Yeah, he seems like he would like snow.’

Hermione, who had chosen to watch their snowball fight rather than join in, told them she was going back upstairs to get ready for the Ball.

‘What d’you need three hours for?’ Ron asked, looking at her incredulously, before getting hit in the head once again, this time by George. 'Who are you going with?’ he yelled after her, but she only waved in response.

Then Dean departed as well.

'What do _you_ need three hours for?’ Ron demanded.

‘Oh, you'll see,’ Dean grinned.

‘Can’t wait,’ Ron said, eyebrows raised.

  


Their extended snowball fight continued for another hour or so, until John couldn't feel his fingers anymore, and got tired of Sherlock attempting to calculate his every move.

'I'm going in,’ he said, rubbing his hands together.

'Yeah, we'd better start getting ready,’ Harry said, checking his watch.

‘No one needs this long to get ready,’ Ron grumbled.

'Maybe Harry doesn't, but you definitely do,’ Fred teased.

'Yeah, Ron, it'll take hours to make you look any good,’ George added.

Ron chucked a snowball at George, but missed.

They did all start making their way up to the castle, however, and John was grateful to be in the warmth.

Once back in his dormitory, he began to feel nervous, but pushed it down. He was careful not to crease his dress robes as he put them on, once again admiring the silkiness of the material. He stopped at the tie. He still had both the plain one and the one with the tiny rose on it. Sherlock was going with someone else, he told himself, but there was still a part of him that thought _maybe._ He picked up the plain one and held it up to himself, but his eyes travelled back to the other one, still in its box. _They're made to match,_ he thought. If he wore this one, and Sherlock wore his own, then…

He put the plain one back in its box and lifted out the rose one. He quickly tied it on before he could change his mind. He steadied himself with a deep breath, trying hard not to fumble with the cloak too much, clasping it around his neck.

He pulled back the curtains from around his bed, and saw that the rest of the boys had changed into their dress robes too. They were all fidgeting self-consciously, none moreso than Ron, but when John thought back to what his robes looked like before Dean altered them, it could have been a lot worse.

John left a little earlier than the others, to meet Molly downstairs. He pushed through the crowd milling about in the Entrance Hall, towards the corridor leading to the Hufflepuff common room. He found Molly close by, searching for him. She was wearing a buttery yellow dress, her hair swept to one side, and a wide smile.

'You look lovely,’ John smiled.

'Thanks,’ she said, blushing. 'You look nice too. That's a good colour on you.’

'I'd like to take the credit, but Madam Malkin chose it for me.’

'She has a good eye.’

'She does.’

They stood in awkward silence for a moment, until Molly craned her neck. 'Has Sherlock come down yet?’ she asked.

'Don't think so,’ John said, resisting the urge to look around himself.

‘Who’s his date?’

‘Not a clue.’

Molly looked sceptical. ‘You don’t know?’

‘He said I’d meet her at the Ball.’

Molly’s eyebrows shot up. ‘ _Her?’_

‘Ye- what?’

‘Nothing.’

John finally gave in and looked around the Entrance Hall. Sherlock was not there, but he could see Harry and Ron with Parvati and Padma Patil. Harry, Ron and Padma all looked extremely uncomfortable, though Parvati was waving around excitedly, her many golden bangles jangling on her wrist.

Dean had also arrived with Katie Bell, both of them wearing light grey coloured robes. Dean’s hair had been carefully combed and gelled, and he was grinning around at everyone.

Gabriel was there too, wearing spangly gold robes, with the Head Girl as his date in forest green.

Suddenly, the great oak front doors opened, and all the Durmstrang students marched in. Krum lead the way with his date, a pretty girl in robes of periwinkle blue.

John squinted at her, then gasped. ‘ _Hermione?’_

She smiled briefly at him on her way past.

‘What do you think?’

John jumped. Dean had made his way over to them.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Hermione,’ Dean said, nodding at her.

Her usually bushy hair had been smoothed into a sleek, elegant knot at the back of her head.

‘She looks great, doesn’t she?’ Dean grinned.

‘Did you-?’

Dean shrugged. ‘I helped a little.’

‘First Ron, now Hermione,’ John teased. ‘Do you just like dressing people up?’

‘Who do you think does Sam’s hair?’ Dean laughed, winking. ‘Not Sam, I’ll tell you that.’

'Champions over here, please!’ Professor McGonagall called, waving them over to one side of the Hall. Her robes were tartan red, and an ugly wreath wrapped around the brim of her hat.

The champions were to wait outside while the rest of them went inside and sat down.

The doors to the Great Hall opened and everyone streamed inside.

The walls of the Hall had been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The house tables had vanished; instead there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.

John settled himself at one with Molly, and they were joined by Dean and Katie. He stared around, looking up at the mistletoe, when he heard a small gasp from Molly, then someone sit at their table.

He looked down and his breath caught in his throat.

Sherlock had also joined them at their table, in his blue robes. His hair, usually extremely messy, appeared less so, and John squirmed under the gaze of his clear eyes.

His date sat next to him, wearing red and green, shimmery robes. Tinsel had been tied into her dirty blonde hair, and her wide, staring eyes locked onto him.

Then John realised with a start that Sherlock was wearing his tie, black with a little white rose in the corner.

'Sorry I'm late,’ Sherlock said. 'This is Luna Lovegood.’

John just gaped at him until Molly nudged him under the table. He cleared his throat. 'Yes, of course. Lovely to meet you, Luna.’ He shook her hand, but she just continued to stare.

'You remember Molly?’ John said to Sherlock.

'Molly?’

'Molly Hooper?’ John prompted. 'You met her in second year?’

'Right. Second year.’

Once everyone had settled into their seats, the champions and their partners walked up the centre of the room to the teachers’ table, where they sat down.

The glittering plates in front of them didn't have any food on them yet, but there were menus neatly places on the middle of the tables. John looked around to see what they were supposed to do, and he saw Dumbledore at the head table look down at his plate and clearly say 'Pork chops.’ They appeared on his plate, and everyone in the room copied him. It seemed like a lot of extra effort on behalf of the House-elves, but when John looked over at Hermione, she seemed not to care for once.

Neither John, nor Sherlock had much of an appetite, however, and simply sat there as everyone ate theirs. John kept glancing up at Sherlock, stopping on his tie, then his face, but his expression was impossible to decipher. He tried to feel Sherlock as well, but he could feel nothing past the hammering of his own heart.

'Are you really a Seer?’ Luna asked, still staring at him.

John nodded, resigned to the fact that this would most likely be the first question people asked him from now on.

'That must be difficult. Knowing the future must be such a burden.’

John shot a confused look at Sherlock, who smiled slightly. 'Why do you say that?’ John said.

'Knowing the past is a burden sometimes,’ Luna said. 'But at least you know there's nothing you can do to change it. But the future is different, I suppose. I can imagine that wondering if you can change it would be stressful.’

John was lost for words, and Luna just smiled.

Once all the food had been consumed, Dumbledore stood, and asked everyone to do the same. When they did, he waved his wand, and all the tables zoomed out to the edges of the room, leaving the floor clear. He then conjured a stage, with accompanying instruments, and the Weird Sisters trooped out onto it, their clothes artfully ripped. They picked up their instruments and struck up a slow, mournful tune.

The champions and their partners moved to the middle of the room, and began the dance.

Harry was particularly awkward, but saved himself a little embarrassment by allowing Parvati to lead.

Soon, other people made their way over to the dance floor. John bit his lip, looking at Sherlock. He took a deep breath and opened his mouth, but lost his resolve, instead saying, 'Molly, do you want to dance?’

Molly beamed. 'I'd love to.’

They both went to the middle of the room, John took Molly by the waist and they danced a slow waltz, imitating those around them. It was rather enjoyable, John thought, though he couldn't stop himself from watching Sherlock with Luna over Molly's head.

Dean and Katie had started dancing too. Dean moved confidently, a hand firmly at her waist, and lightly spinning her around.

The final bars of the song played out, and the gathering applauded them. They began a faster, more upbeat song, and Dean was eager to join in, but a familiar face at the door to the Great Hall caught his eye. 'I'll be right back,’ he said in Katie's ear, and dashed over to the doors. As he thought, Castiel was outside, sneaking back towards the marble staircase.

'Cas!’ Dean called, and Cas jumped. 'What are you doing out here? I thought you weren't coming.’

'I'm not,’ Cas said, sounding angry with himself.

'But you're dressed.’

Cas didn't move.

'Come on, you've come this far,’ Dean said, reaching out.

Cas turned around, eyes downcast. 'I can't.’

'Why not?’

He gestured at himself. 'I look ridiculous.’

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but couldn't quite manage it, when he saw what Cas was wearing.

They were plain by dress robes standards, all black, but the material was of good quality. The only problem was that they were far too big for Cas, clearly made for someone who much more built, as well a little shorter in the leg. They hung off him in odd places, but Dean could also see Cas's ankles.

Dean considered him for a moment, then said, 'Wait here’, and ran back into the Great Hall to find Katie. He explained the situation to her. 'You can dance with someone else, if you want,’ he said to her. 'I know I'm being a terrible date, but I'll make it up to you, I promise.’

Katie merely shrugged, having too good a time to care all that much that Dean was no longer with her.

Dean then went back out to the Entrance Hall, and moved Cas away from the doors. 'If I can fix Ron's robes, yours will be a cinch, what do you say?’

Cas bit his, but nodded.

'Where did you get these?’ Dean asked.

'They're my brother's.’

'Gabriel's?’

'Michael's.’

‘ _Reducio._ You wear a lot of your brother's clothes?’

'Not really. He took most of his things with him when he went home.’

'Oh, he's back in the states?’

'Yes. He's in the Auror office.’

'Your brother's _that_ Michael?’ Dean said, casting a critical eye over Cas. His robes fit a lot better now, so it was time to complete the look.

Cas had tried to comb his hair flat, but it stuck out in some places, so Dean ran both his hands through it, ruffling it up. ‘Looks good,’ Dean said, 'but something's missing…’ His eyes fell on the overly large bowtie Cas was wearing and smiled. 'Got it. _Accio tie.’_

It took a moment, but Cas's Ravenclaw tie flew into his hand. He removed Cas's bowtie and tied the Ravenclaw one on him instead. 'Perfect!’ he said, stepping back to admire his work. 'Blue is your colour.’

'It is?’

'Oh, sure. Goes with your eyes. Are you coming in?’

Cas's eyes widened in fear. 'I- I don't know, Dean.’

‘Have you seen Gabriel's robes?’

Cas shook his head.

'Wow, okay, well it's worth it just for that, trust me.’

Cas took a step back.

'I'll be with you the whole time,’ Desk reassured him.

'What about Katie?’

Dean snorted. 'Don't worry about her. In fact, I've probably been such a terrible date already that you'll definitely have a shot after this.’

Cas nodded and sucked a deep breath in through his nose. 'All right. Let's go.’

'You missed dinner,’ Dean said, putting a comforting hand at Cas's back.

'I'm not hungry.’

They walked slowly towards the Hall, Dean watching Cas's face the entire time and taking it at his own pace.

Cas's fists clenched and unclenched over and over as they walked, but propelled himself forwards. The sounds of music and people laughing went through him, but when he reached the doors, no one so much as looked in his direction.

'Let's go sit down,’ Dean said in his ear, pulling him out to the edge of the room where the tables were. 'You're doing really great,’ Dean said. 'Do you want a drink? I can get one for you.’

Cas shook his head, looking around the room. He spotted Hermione and a ghost of a smile crossed his face. 'Your handiwork?’ he said.

Dean grinned and nodded.

'You're good at that.’

Dean scanned the room. 'Look, there's Gabriel,’ he said, pointing.

Cas squinted and snorted. 'I knew he'd have something up his sleeve.’

Dean had chosen a good seat. They could see everyone else, but no one could see them. They could even see Harry and Ron at their table, both Parvati and Padma looking bored and miserable, as well as John and Sherlock on opposite sides of the room with their dates, occasionally glancing over at each other.

'You think they'll get together tonight?’ Dean said to Cas.

'What? Who?’

'John and Sherlock.’

Cas frowned. 'I don't understand.’

'You don't think they like each other? Come on, look at them. They're wearing matching ties.’

Cas squinted at them. 'They are?’

'Yeah. Can you not see that?’

'No.’

Dean looked at him for a moment. 'Cas, do you need glasses?’

Cas frowned again. 'I don't know. I don't think so.’

‘I think you might. I'll take you to the eye doctor when you come and stay.’

Cas’s eyes widened. 'When I…’

'Come and stay. With me. At my house. I mean, if you want to.’

Cas looked down at the table. 'I can't.’

'Why not?’

He didn't answer, instead hunching even further over the table.

Dean shook his head. 'It's ok. Why don't we find you someone to dance with? Hey, maybe Katie will be up for it,’ he said, looking around for her.

'No,’ Cas said, voice low.

'No? Not Katie? I thought you liked her?’

'No.’

'Someone else, then?’

Cas's breathing became heavier, and Dean opened his mouth to say something, but Cas abruptly stood up and made for the door.

'Cas, wait! You were doing so well, come back!’ he called, following Cas out.

  


John saw them leave, surprised that Cas had turned up at all, but soon turned his attention back to Sherlock, standing with Luna on the other side of the room. John had sat down with Molly for a drink, and now they were both watching him.

'You should go and ask him to dance,’ Molly said eventually.

'What?’ John said, heart leaping into his throat.

‘I’ve seen the way you look at him. You should ask him to dance.’

'No, you're my date, Molly,’ John insisted.

'I don't think either of us have come with who we'd really like to,’ she said, looking over at Sherlock herself.  

John shook his head. 'He doesn't-’

'Doesn't he? I've seen how he looks at you too. Actually, I think most people have.’

John bit his lip. ‘Molly-’

'Do it, John.’ Molly pushed him out of his chair and on to his feet.

As if they'd been listening, the band started playing another slow song, so John squared his shoulders, took a breath, and started across the room.

He felt as though he was walking in slow motion, his hands began to shake, and he could feel himself sweating. By the time he reached Sherlock, he could hardly speak through the dryness in his throat. ‘Sherlock,’ he said, voice cracking.

Sherlock looked at him, tilting his chin up.

John shifted, then held his hand out. ‘May I have this dance?’

Sherlock blinked, expressionless, looking down at John’s hand, then back up again. He glanced at Luna, who didn’t move, then his a smile spread across his face. ‘I don’t know, John,’ he said.

John faltered, lowering his hand slightly. ‘What?’

‘It’s just… I’ve been watching you from over here, and you’re a terrible dancer.’

The tension in John’s body released as he laughed. ‘You absolute git! Like you could do any better.’

‘I could actually.’

John held out his hand again. ‘Prove it.’

This time Sherlock took his hand, and John walked him to the dance floor. His hands were pleasantly cool, and squeezing John’s fingers.

John let him take the lead, and was surprised to find that Sherlock was indeed a good dancer. ‘Where did you learn to dance?’ John asked, looking up at him.

‘Mother made Mycroft and I learn, for when we went to formal functions at the Ministry.’

‘Makes sense.’

As the song went on, their bodies got closer and closer together. John watched Sherlock’s face. He appeared to be enjoying himself, but John still yearned to be closer. _Just do it,_ he told himself.

‘Do what?’ Sherlock said, confused, and John groaned, once again forgetting that Sherlock could hear him. ‘What?’ Sherlock said again.

John shook his head, whispered, ‘Screw it,’ and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s.

Sherlock tensed in shock, but soon sunk into it, holding on to John’s shoulders.

Suddenly, John felt something in the back of his head. An intense relief flooded through him, but it wasn’t his. Before he knew it, waves of images and feelings crashed around in his mind and in front of his eyes. Images of himself but, he realised, from Sherlock’s point of view. Of him smiling, and warmth radiating from it; of him collapsed on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, and fear and uncertainty.

John gasped and pulled away.  ‘You-’ he stammered. ‘This whole time?’

Sherlock watched him, waiting.

John then noticed that he hadn’t stopped feeling what Sherlock was feeling. ‘Wait. _You’ve_ been blocking me?’

Sherlock nodded hesitantly.

‘ _Why?’_

‘I- I didn’t think you- I didn’t want to make things… awkward… You have enough to deal with.’

John looked at him incredulously. ‘You’re such an _idiot.’_ He leaned in and kissed Sherlock again, before he could say anything.

  


Dean had guessed correctly, but missed the whole thing, chasing Cas out into the newly-grown rose garden outside. The bushes had been illuminated with live fairies, and he could hear people all around, but couldn’t see Cas anywhere. He wandered around, past Hagrid and Madame Maxime, until he came to a shadowy alcove, and found Cas sitting on the bench there, hugging himself. He sighed and sat down next to Cas.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

Cas shook his head.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you.’

‘You didn’t,’ Cas murmured.

‘Was it what I said about Katie? ‘Cause I told you, you could go out with her if you wanted to-’

‘Dean, I don’t want-’

‘Or any girl, really. Really, Cas, you’re a catch-’

‘I’m not-’

‘Sure you are, just pick a girl, I’ll help you-’

‘Dean, I’m gay.’

Dean clamped his jaw shut, and Cas covered his mouth with both hands, horrified.

They just sat, staring at each other. Dean knew that if he moved or said something, Cas would bolt. He could see Cas’s legs twitching, so he held eye contact while he thought of something to do. Before he could though, there was a rustling of bushes ahead of them, and John and Sherlock burst into the alcove, kissing fiercely.

Dean’s mouth dropped open, and even Cas was shocked enough to drop his hands. They sat in silence for a moment, but then Dean felt they were intruding on something private, so he pointedly cleared his throat.

John and Sherlock hastily broke apart and stood at either side of the alcove opening, avoiding each other’s eyes.

Cas took the opportunity to get up and hurry past them.

‘No, Cas, wait-’ Dean stood up, but it was too late. He sighed. ‘I’ll talk to him tomorrow,’ he said to himself. Then he too walked past John and Sherlock. ‘Nice, by the way,’ he said to them, giving them a thumbs up.

John waited until he was sure Dean was gone to look back at Sherlock, and they both burst into laughter. He stepped closer to Sherlock and took his hands. He could still feel Sherlock in the back of his mind, warm with a slight undercurrent of disbelief. ‘I’ll have to get used to that,’ he said.

‘You will,’ Sherlock said. ‘I did, and your mind is much more boring than mine.’

‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome.’

They laughed again, and John kissed him once more. ‘Let’s go. I’m tired.’

Sherlock nodded. ‘I know.’

They walked slowly back inside, but the Ball sounded as though it were beginning to wind down, so they decided to carry on past the Great Hall and up to Gryffindor Tower instead. They didn’t say much as they walked. Sherlock allowed John to cautiously explore the part of their minds that were connected, familiarising themselves with it. Sherlock had to admit, now that he had stopped closing John out, that things were a lot clearer for him now, too.

The Fat Lady was fast asleep in her frame by the time they reached her, so John had to shout ‘Fairy Lights!’ at her to wake her up. She grumbled, but didn’t open her eyes, and just let them in.

They stepped through the portrait hole, but were greeted by Ron and Hermione screaming at each other from opposite sides of the common room.

‘What is going on?’ John said loudly.

They both turned to look at them, faces screwed up in anger.

Hermione’s hair had begun to come out of its bun, and the cuffs of Ron’s robes had frayed.

Hermione didn’t say anything else, she just stormed up to the girls’ dormitory.

‘What did you do?’ John asked Ron.

‘Me? I haven’t done anything!’ Then he too stormed off to the dormitory.

Harry had not returned yet, so John and Sherlock waited a while for him, but fell asleep together in front of the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to hhhelcat for the comment!
> 
> So, here we are! Nearly six years in the making, and we finally made. Thanks to all of you that have stuck with me so far, and I hope you stick around! See you all again next time!


	22. Rita Skeeter's Scoop

Rita Skeeter's Scoop

 

Ron and Hermione had calmed down by the next day, reaching an unspoken agreement not to talk about their argument, when Harry and Ron told the rest of them that they had overheard Hagrid telling Madame Maxime that he was half giant.

‘So what?’ John said. ‘I thought that was fairly obvious.’

‘Giants aren’t known for their gentle natures,’ Sherlock said.

Their fingers and legs were entangled, sitting on the sofa together. John’s heart was light in his chest, and he couldn’t stop smiling. Sherlock managed to resist, but John could tell he was struggling to keep a straight face.

‘And? Anyone who knows Hagrid knows he isn’t dangerous. It’s the same sort of nonsense they spout about Muggle-borns, isn’t it?’

‘You’ve never met a giant.’

‘Oh, so you have?’

Sherlock didn’t say anything, and John laughed at him. 

‘Has anyone seen Cas?’ Dean asked, only having been half listening.

‘No, why?’ John said.

Dean shrugged. ‘I just need to talk to him, that’s all.’

But he couldn’t find Cas for the rest of the holidays. He wasn’t in the hospital wing any of the times Dean visited, nor out in the grounds, and Dean had the sneaking suspicion that Cas was avoiding him on purpose. He was the only one not doing homework after everyone else had already settled down to do theirs, instead spending most of his time wandering around aimlessly.

 

On the first day back, the Gryffindors spent Herbology dreading Care of Magical Creatures. It was gloomy and cold outside, and no one felt like trying to corral angry Skrewts around. When they arrived at Hagrid’s hut, however, they found an elderly witch with close-cropped, grey hair standing in front of his door.

‘Who’re you?’ Ron asked. ‘Where’s Hagrid?’

‘My name is Professor Grubbly-Plank,’ she said briskly. ‘I will be teaching Care of Magical Creatures temporarily.’

‘Where’s Hagrid?’ Harry repeated loudly.

‘He is indisposed,’ she said softly.

A soft, unpleasant laughter reached their ears. Draco Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins had arrived. They all looked gleeful, and John’s heart sank when none of them looked surprised to see Professor Grubbly-Plank. Rita Skeeter’s face flashed before his eyes and he groaned, stumbling slightly.

‘This way, please,’ Professor Grubbly-Plank said, leading them away from Hagrid’s hut and past the Beauxbatons carriage. She brought them right up to the edge of the Forest, where a unicorn was tethered to a tree. It was huge, beautiful, and so brilliantly white that it made the snow around it look grey.

‘It’s so beautiful,’ Lavender Brown whispered. ‘How did she get it? They’re supposed to be really hard to catch.’

It pawed the ground nervously with its golden hooves, and tossed its horned head.

‘Boys keep back!’ Professor Grubbly-Plank barked. ‘Unicorns prefer a woman’s touch. Girls to the front, and approach with care.’

She carefully walked forward with the girls. 

John glanced at Malfoy while he was distracted, and saw a copy of the  _ Daily Prophet  _ in his hands. ‘ _ Accio,’  _ he whispered. The paper flew out of his hands, and John caught it and hid it before Malfoy saw where it went. ‘Hey,’ he whispered, beckoning to Harry and Ron. They closed either side of him so no one else could see what they were doing.

 

_ DUMBLEDORE’S GIANT MISTAKE _

_ Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments,  _ writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent.  _ In September of this year, he hired Alastor ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody’s well-known habit of attacking anyone who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly, when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures. _

_ Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of Gamekeeper at the school ever since, a position secured for his by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the Headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates. _

_ An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid has been using his new-found authority to terrify students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore  turns a blind-eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons which many admit to be ‘very frightening’. _

_ ‘I was attacked by a Hippogriff, and my friend, Vincent Crabbe, got a bad bite off a Flobberworm,’ says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student. ‘We all hate Hagrid, but we’re just too scared to say anything.’ _

_ Hagrid has no intention of ceasing his campaign of intimidation, however. In conversation with a  _ Daily Prophet  _ reporter last month, admitted breeding creatures he has dubbed ‘Blast-Ended Skrewts’, highly dangerous crosses between manticores and fire crabs. The creation of new breeds of magical creature is, of course, an activity usually closely observed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, it seems, considers himself above such petty restrictions. _

_ ‘I was just having some fun,’ he says, before hastily changing the subject.. _

_ As if this were not enough, the  _ Daily Prophet  _ has now unearthed evidence that Hagrid is not - as he has always pretended - a pure-blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can exclusively reveal, is none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently unknown. _

_ Bloodthirsty and brutal, the giants brought themselves to the point of near-extinction by warring among themselves during the last century. The handful that remained joined the ranks of He Who Must Not Be Named, and were responsible for some of the worst mass Muggle killings of his reign of terror. _

_ While many of the giants who served He Who Must Not Be Named were killed by Aurors working against the Dark side, Fridwulfa was not among them. It is possible she escaped to one of the giant communities still existing in foreign mountain ranges. If his antics during Care of Magical Creatures lessons are any guide, however, Fridwulfa’s son appears to have inherited her brutal nature. _

_ In a bizarre twist, Hagrid is reputed to have developed a close friendship with a group of delinquents. Harry Potter, who flouts school rules and frequently defends Hagrid’s dangerous behaviour; John Watson, the young Seer who, along with his close friend Sherlock Holmes, have begun to show worrying signs of deviancy, and following Potter’s lead in ignoring the rules; and Castiel Edlund, the younger brother of the reported Dark witch, Lucy Edlund. _

_ Perhaps dangerous people group together, or perhaps Hagrid is leading their impressionable, young minds astray. _

_ Albus Dumbledore surely has a duty to ensure Harry Potter, along with his fellow students, is warned about the dangers of associating with part-giants. _

 

Once he was finished reading, John looked up at Ron and Harry. Ron’s mouth was hanging open, but Harry whirled around, stomping over to Malfoy.

John was strangely calm, folding up the paper. He could feel Sherlock’s discomfort in the back of his mind, and realised that something was happening to him. He looked over at the group of girls, and locked eyes with the unicorn. It tossed its head again, and slowly walked towards him. The girls parted for it.

‘Move back,’ he said to the other boys, interrupting their argument. ‘Get out of the way.’

They did as he said, stepping away the closer the unicorn got.

He held a shaking hand out as it approached. It skittered nervously, but then pushed forwards, against its fears. John gasped as it placed its nose under his trembling fingers.

It was the softest thing he had ever felt, and the warmth radiating from it warmed his whole body.

A sense of urgency pushed through his fingers.

‘What is it?’ he whispered to it. ‘Show me.’ He closed his eyes, waiting. 

Soon, hundreds of images flashed through him, mostly of the Forest, and a sense of foreboding at the edges. A cloaked figure, mouth dripping with unicorn blood. ‘I remember,’ he murmured. ‘You’re afraid of him.’

Many dead unicorns flashed before his eyes, each one drained of blood. 

‘I know.’

Then an image of the castle, and another figure walking towards it. ‘His follower is here?’

Unicorns whinnying and screaming filled his ears, and he gritted his teeth, trying not to scare the unicorn. ‘You’re worried he’ll come back. You want me to stop him.’

Then the screams died away, and a slightly fuzzy image of many unicorns grazing appeared, along with a calmness, and a faint imprint of John walking with them. ‘I understand,’ he murmured. ‘I’ll do my best.’

The unicorn snorted and shook its head, letting John’s hand drop. It trotted back to the girls, and the cold crept back into John’s limbs. He was suddenly exhausted. ‘Oh, sitting down,’ he mumbled, dropping to the floor with a thump. His vision cleared, and Harry and Ron were crouching beside him. 

‘You all right, mate?’ Ron asked.

‘Fine,’ John said, laying on his back.

‘You’re sort of lying in the snow,’ Harry pointed out.

‘It’s comfy.’ John heard his own words as if they had come from very far away. ‘I think I need to sleep.’

‘Probably not in the snow, though.’

‘Yeah… I don’t think I can get up though.’

Just then, Professor Grubbly-Plank appeared in his dim field of vision, and pulled him to his feet. She was surprisingly strong, and as soon as John was up, Harry and Ron moved to support him.

‘How did you do that?’ Professor Grubbly-Plank asked him.

‘What?’

‘How did you get the unicorn to trust you?’

John squinted at her, then laughed giddily.

‘I don’t think he’s very well, Professor,’ Harry said.

‘Best get him upstairs, then. Off you go.’

They helped him back up to the castle, but by the time they got to the steps, he was feeling far more substantial. ‘Let’s just go up to the common room,’ he said. ‘No reason to bother Madam Pomfrey, right?’

Harry and Ron agreed, and they all trudged slowly up the marble staircase.

Dean was already in there, alone, pacing by the fireplace. He looked up in surprise when they came in through the portrait hole.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

John shrugged, and collapsed onto the sofa, and Harry passed him the copy of the paper.

Dean quickly scanned through it, forehead crinkling as he read through. ‘This is crap!’ he said furiously. ‘I’m not even mentioned, and I’m definitely a delinquent.’ He read the last paragraph again and sighed. ‘You don’t suppose Cas has seen this, do you? I can’t find him anywhere.’

John groaned into the sofa cushions, and pushed himself back up again. He closed his eyes and searched through the castle for Sherlock. It was almost instantaneous this time, not like before when he painstakingly groped for Sherlock.

‘Seen Cas?’ he asked, slurring his words slightly. 

‘ _ He’s here.’  _ Sherlock showed him the back of Castiel’s head and a vague impression of the dungeons. ‘ _ He isn’t speaking to me.’ _

John let the connection go. ‘He’s in lessons,’ he said to Dean. ‘Potions, I think.’

‘You’re getting good at that,’ Dean said, impressed.

‘Mmhmm.’ He promptly fell asleep, before Dean had even crossed the common room.

‘See you guys later,’ Dean said, dashing out of the portrait hole.

He descended the stairs two at a time, reaching the dungeons just before the bell rang, breathless and clutching a stitch in his side.

The door opened, and Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students all streamed out. Dean saw Cas slip through the door among a group of Hufflepuffs. ‘Cas!’ he called, but Cas ignored him. ‘Cas, wait!’ but it was no use. Cas disappeared down the corridor. Dean tried to follow him, but lost sight of him through the crowds of students in the Entrance Hall.

‘What do you think’s up with him?’ Dean asked Sherlock, who stood beside him.

‘It might have something to do with what he told you at Christmas,’ Sherlock murmured.

‘You heard that, huh?’

‘Not on purpose.’

Dean glanced at Sherlock, whose eyes were half closed. ‘What’s up with you?’ he asked.

Sherlock shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

‘Probably just need a nap, or something.’

Sherlock nodded vaguely. 

‘John’s asleep on the couch in our common room.’

‘I know.’

‘You’re so weird.’

Sherlock sighed and walked off, making his way up to Gryffindor Tower.

 

There was a Hogsmeade visit half way through January. Neither Hagrid nor Castiel had emerged from their hiding places. Dean met up with the Gryffindors and Sherlock just outside the Entrance Hall. 

‘No Cas?’ he said when Sherlock arrived, who shook his head. ‘All right, that’s it. You guys go without me.’ There was still one place Dean hadn’t looked.

Once the others had gone, Dean ran back up to his dormitory and dragged his trunk out from under the bed. He dug through its contents, and eventually pulled out two packages wrapped in crinkled brown paper. He tucked them under his arm and made his way down the stairs. He stopped at the portrait of the silver swan, and went past it, turning into yet another staircase. He went up, walking in dizzyingly tight circles until he reached a door. There was no lock or handle, only an expanse of aged wood, and a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle. Dean stared at it, perplexed. Dean reached out for the knocker, supposing that someone inside must have to let him in, and knocked.

The eagle opened its beak and, instead of birdsong, a soft, musical voice spoke. ‘Why is a raven like a writing desk?’

‘What?’ Dean stared at it, but it didn’t repeat itself, nor did it move again. ‘Uh, okay, do I have to answer?’

It remained silent.

Dean thought about the question. ‘Oh, wait, I know this one!’ he said, clicking his fingers. ‘It’s a fake riddle, Lewis Carroll never wrote an answer.’

‘Technically correct,’ the voice said.

‘The best kind of correct,’ Dean grinned.

The door swung open, though Dean got the impression that it wasn’t happy about it.

The Ravenclaw common room was a wide, circular room, with an airy, high ceiling. Graceful arched windows punctuated the walls, which were hung with blue and bronze silks. The windows gave a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains. Stars painted the ceiling, and the midnight-blue carpet. There were tables, chairs and bookcases, and in a niche opposite the door stood a tall statue of white marble.

‘Whoa,’ Dean murmured, looking around in awe. He slowly crept over to the marble woman. She was beautiful, yet slightly intimidating, wearing a delicate tiara on her head. There were tiny words on it, and Dean stepped onto the plinth to read it.  _ ‘“Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure”,  _ so you must be Rowena Ravenclaw.’

‘What are you doing in here?’

Dean jumped, and stumbled off the plinth. He turned around and saw one of the Ravenclaw Prefects glaring at him. 

‘What are you doing in here?’ she repeated.

‘Which way is it to the dorms?’ Dean said.

‘Why?’

‘I’m looking for Castiel, have you seen him?’

The girl looked him up and down, then nodded towards the door next to the statue of Ravenclaw. ‘Through there, up the stairs, then through the door on the right.’

‘Thank you,’ Dean said. He followed her instructions and eventually found another door with  _ Fourth-Years  _ written on it. He took a deep breath and went in.

Cas was sitting on the bed closest to the door, leaning against the headboard, reading a book. His sleeves were rolled up and Dean briefly glimpsed his scars before he hastily rolled them down.

‘Dean!’ he gasped. ‘How did you get in here?’

‘Your door is lame. It just tells riddles, you guys don’t even have a password.’ Dean laughed nervously, but it had no effect.

‘Why are you here?’

‘Well, you’ve been avoiding me, and you haven’t even let me give you your Christmas present yet.’

‘You could have sent it by owl,’ Cas grumbled, but he moved until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, with room for Dean to sit beside him.

‘Here.’ Dean gave him one of the parcels. A long, thin one.

Cas unwrapped it carefully, to reveal a slim, black box. He opened it, and his eyes widened. ‘Dean…’ He lifted out a thin, silver necklace, that was almost identical to the one he used to wear.

‘You used yours to save me. I figured I owed you a new one. I know it’s not the same,’ Dean stammered. ‘I only saw it once, but-’

‘It’s beautiful,’ Cas interrupted, clasping it around his neck and tucking it down the front of his robes. ‘Thank you.’

Dean nodded. ‘Sorry it’s late. It wasn’t ready in time for Christmas Day.’ He still had another parcel sitting in his lap, his palms clamped around it began to sweat, and his mouth suddenly felt dry. ‘This one’s not really a Christmas present, I - I just thought - you should have it.’ 

Cas gently took it from his hands and unwrapped it with the same care as he had the other one. He saw the frame first, a thin silver one, backed with velvet, but then he saw the photograph inside and his face went slack.

‘I remembered Bagman saying that he knew your mom, so I sent him an owl and asked if he had any pictures,’ Dean said, his nerves clear in his voice.

Cas just continued to stare at the photo.

She was smiling widely, dressed in long blue robes at what looked like a Christmas party. Her long, dark hair was tied up and styled in loose curls, and she toasted her glass towards the camera.

‘She’s gorgeous,’ Dean said. ‘You look just like her.’

Cas nodded, then suddenly let out a huge sob.

‘Cas…’

‘M-m-my father took away all the pictures of her when she… I haven’t seen her in so long.’

‘Oh, Cas, I had no idea.’

Cas covered his mouth with one hand, trying to muffle his sobbing.

Dean put an arm around him, and could have sworn that Cas leaned into him before shrugging his arm off. He waited for Cas’s crying to subside. ‘Seems like you needed to let that out.’

Cas nodded again, sniffling, and wiping his face with the sleeve of his robes. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ Dean took a deep breath. ‘Listen, I know it was hard to tell me that - what you told me, but I want you to know it’s okay. Does anyone else know?’

‘Hermione,’ Cas mumbled. ‘We both had a crush on Professor Lockhart.’

‘Lockhart?’ Dean asked, forcing himself not to laugh. ‘That’s not the worst first crush I’ve ever heard… It’s pretty bad though.’

Cas chuckled weakly.

‘Anyone else?’

‘Gabriel. And Sherlock, probably.’

‘Have you always known?’

Cas nodded.

‘So… you’re - you know - and a wizard,  _ and  _ Christian? How do you deal with that?’

Cas looked at him curiously. ‘It’s… difficult, but not impossible. I just have to believe that God made me this way for a reason, and He loves me the way I am.’

‘Have you ever had a crush on anyone else? Apart from Lockhart, I mean.’

Cas’s lip twitched as he considered it for a second. ‘No,’ he said.

‘Maybe you just haven’t had the chance, seeing as you’ve had to hide for so long.’

Cas bit his lip. ‘I - I don’t know, Dean, you don’t understand-’

‘Maybe I do.’

Dean was just as surprised as Cas was, Cas’s eyebrows shooting up. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, then sucked in a breath. It was too late to go back.

‘Dean, are you-?’

‘Yeah, I mean, I still like girls too, but yeah.’

Cas squinted at him. ‘So you’re bisexual, then?’

Dean gave him a confused look. ‘You’re a pure-blood wizard who literally lives on a mountain, how do you know that word?’

Cas finally smiled properly. ‘Gabriel used to sneak me out of the house and take me to the Muggle library when I was young. I learned a lot of things. Did you know they can get to the moon, Dean?’

‘I - yeah, I knew that,’ Dean said, smiling despite himself. ‘And I think you should have a long conversation with Arthur Weasley, but that’s not what we were talking about… I’ll just… add that to the list of things I didn’t know you were in to.’

‘Of course… Have you told anyone else?’

‘Nope… just you,’ Dean said, heart fluttering.

‘I’m honoured. Not even Sam?’

Dean shook his head. ‘I thought it would go away, at first. I tried to make it go away, but that didn’t work either.’

‘What did you do?’ Cas asked, suddenly concerned.

‘Nothing serious, don’t worry,’ Dean said. ‘I just used to let Fred and George test their love potions on me.’

Cas scowled.

‘I don’t any more,’ Dean said hurriedly. ‘It’s just tough, you know? You just sort feel like…’ Dean looked around, hoping the right words would hit him.

‘Like you’re hiding part of yourself,’ Cas said quietly. ‘And you can’t let it out.’

‘Yeah. Exactly.’ Dean smiled at him, and squeezed his knee. ‘I think our friends would be okay with it. John and Sherlock for sure.’

‘I- I think they would be too, I’m - I’m just not ready-’

‘That’s okay. Me neither.’

‘Just us, then?’

‘Yeah, just us.’ Dean sat quietly, looking out of the window opposite Cas’s bed. ‘It’s nice in here,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why you’d spend so much time in our common room if yours is as nice as this.’

Cas merely shrugged.

‘You know,’ he ventured, ‘you can talk to me about it, if you need to. I’d rather you talked to me than hid up here. Madam Pomfrey misses you.’

‘Okay, I’ll try that next time,’ Cas said. ‘Besides, I can’t really hide from you up here anymore, anyway.’

Dean snorted. ‘What do you say, then, do you want to come to Hogsmeade?’

Cas crossed his legs, and shook his head. ‘I don’t really feel like it.’

‘Okay, what about Hagrid’s then? You can help me get him to come out.’

Cas sighed. ‘All right. Hagrid’s.’ He reluctantly put the photograph of his mother down on his bedside table, and stood up. Dean pretended not to notice his shaking knees and walked down the stairs with him. ‘Thank you for my gifts, Dean,’ Cas murmured once they’d left Ravenclaw Tower.

‘Don’t mention it,’ Dean grinned.

They made their way down to Hagrid’s hut, and Dean watched Cas gaze around the grounds. ‘Maybe it doesn’t mean much coming from me, I mean, I’m not all that religious, but I think God loves you.’

Cas stopped in his tracks. ‘Do you really think so?’

‘Absolutely. You love all of God’s creations, right? You love nature, you love animals. Most people too. That’s what He wants, right? In my opinion, anyway.’ Before he could react, Cas had thrown his arms around Dean’s neck, squeezing him tightly. 

‘It means everything coming from you, Dean,’ he whispered into Dean’s shoulder. ‘Thank you.’

Dean’s hands awkwardly hovered for a moment, before wrapping themselves around Cas’s skinny frame, and he realised that Cas was standing on his toes to do so. He reluctantly let go when he felt Cas take a small step backwards, and cleared his throat. ‘Hagrid’s?’ he said, a little too brightly.

They turned back towards Hagrid’s hut, but saw Hermione flying across the grounds, followed by Harry and Ron. They hurried over, just as Hermione began pounding on the door. The curtains were still closed, but they could hear Fang’s barking booming from inside.

‘Hagrid!’ Hermione shouted. ‘Hagrid, that’s enough! We know you’re in there! No one cares that your mum was a giantess, Hagrid! You can’t let this foul Skeeter woman do this to you! Hagrid, get out here, you’re being-’

The door opened, and they found themselves face to face, not with Hagrid, but with Dumbledore.

‘Good afternoon,’ he said pleasantly, smiling down at them.

‘We - er - we wanted to see Hagrid,’ Hermione said in a small voice.

‘Yes, I surmised as much,’ said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. ‘Why don’t you come in?’

‘Oh… erm… okay.’

They all went into the cabin, Fang launching himself at Harry the moment they entered.

Hagrid was sitting at his table, where there were two large mugs of tea. His face was blotchy and his eyes were swollen.

Cas immediately drew a chair up next to Hagrid and put a comforting hand on his huge arm.

‘More tea, I think,’ Dumbledore said, closing the front door. He waved his wand, and a tray appeared in the air, with mugs for all of them, a steaming teapot, and a couple of containers for sugar and milk. He waved his wand again and it set itself down on the table, prompting everyone to take seats. There was a slight pause, then Dumbledore said, ‘Did you by any chance hear what Miss Granger was shouting, Hagrid?’

Hermione turned pink, but Dumbledore smiled at her and continued. ‘It seems that Hermione and these boys all still want to know you, judging by the way they were attempting to break down the door.’

‘Of course we still want to know you!’ Harry said, staring at Hagrid. ‘You don’t think anything that Skeeter cow- sorry, Professor,’ he added quickly, looking at Dumbledore.

‘I have gone temporarily deaf and haven’t any idea what you said, Harry,’ Dumbledore said, twiddling his thumbs and staring at the ceiling.

‘Er - right,’ Harry said sheepishly. ‘I just meant - Hagrid,, how can you think that we’d care what that - woman - wrote about you?’

‘Living proof of what I’ve been telling you, Hagrid,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I have shown you letters from the countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that, if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it-’

‘Not all of ‘em,’ Hagrid said hoarsely. ‘Not all of ‘em wan’ me ter stay.’

‘Really, Hagrid, if you’re holding out for universal popularity, I’m afraid you will be in this cabin for a long time,’ said Dumbledore, now peering over his half-moon spectacles sternly. ‘Not a week has passed, since I became Headmaster of this school, when I haven’t had at least one owl complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anybody?’

Dean caught Cas’s eye, who looked away.

‘Yeh- yeh’re not half-giant,’ Hagrid said croakily.

‘Hagrid, look what I’ve got for relatives!’ Harry said furiously.

‘My sister…’ Cas added, trailing off distractedly.

‘An excellent point,’ said Dumbledore. ‘My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practicing inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He went about his business as usual! Of course, I’m not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery…’

‘Come back and teach, Hagrid,’ Hermione said, ‘please come back, we really miss you.’

Dumbledore stood up. ‘I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect to see you back at work on Monday,’ he said. ‘You will join me for breakfast at eight thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you all.’

Dumbledore left the cabin, pausing only to scratch Fang’s ears. When the door shut behind him, Hagrid began to cry into his hands.

Cas was patting him on the arm, but Dean noticed that the colour had gone from his face, and his eyes had glazed over.

‘Cas?’ he said.

‘Hmm?’

‘Are you okay?’

Cas blinked and nodded. 

Hagrid then got up to find a picture of his father to show them, and Cas’s legs trembled under the table.

‘Excuse me,’ he said quietly, getting up from the table and letting himself out of the back door.

Dean quickly followed him, and found him throwing up behind the cabin.

‘What is it?’ Dean said, alarmed. ‘Are you sick? Can I help?’

‘Damn it,’ Cas groaned, clutching his stomach.

‘What’s wrong? What do you need?’

Cas’s breathing began to speed up. ‘I need-’

‘What? What do you need?’

‘Gabriel,’ Cas gasped. ‘I need Gabriel.’

‘Gabriel?’ Dean said. ‘Isn’t there anything I can do?’

‘No,’ Cas groaned. ‘Gabriel.’ He threw up again and wrapped his arms tightly around himself, stumbling away from the cabin. 

Dean looked around, thinking fast. ‘Wait here.’ He burst back into the cabin. ‘Harry, please say you have the map on you.’

‘Yeah, why?’ Harry said, pulling it out of his pocket.

‘Help me find Gabriel,’ he said as Harry opened it.

They all scanned it together, but it was Ron who found him in the greenhouses.

‘Thanks,’ Dean said, running back out of the cabin. ‘He’s in the greenhouses,’ he told Cas. ‘Can you make it?’

Cas looked as if he was straining very hard, but nodded. He didn’t talk the whole way across the grounds, but Dean wasn’t sure if he even could in this state.

‘I’ll go get him,’ Dean said once they reached the greenhouses. ‘You stay here, okay? Remember to breathe like I showed you, to the count of four, all right?’

Cas nodded, almost bent over double, and Dean dashed inside the greenhouse.

Gabriel was in there feeding the bubotubers. ‘Dean,’ he said, looking up in surprise. ‘What’s up?’

‘Cas,’ Dean said breathlessly. ‘Something’s wrong, I think he’s sick.’

Gabriel’s face fell, and he immediately threw off his dragonhide gloves, leaving the bubotubers where they were.

Dean lead him out to where he’d left Cas, who had fallen to his knees, his body wracked with tremors..

‘Gabriel,’ he groaned.

Gabriel tried to get him up.

‘I can’t,’ Cas gasped. ‘I can’t.’

‘You have to,’ Gabriel said urgently.

‘What is going on?’ Dean demanded. 

‘Not now, Dean,’ Gabriel snapped. ‘Come on, we’ve gotta go.’

‘ _ I can’t,’  _ Cas hissed through his teeth, his eyes squeezed shut. ‘I won’t make it.’

‘Make it where?’ Dean asked.

Cas shook his head.

Gabriel looked around desperately, but the only buildings close were the greenhouses. ‘Okay, we can do this, come on.’ He all but dragged Cas inside the greenhouse, and shut Dean outside.

Dean watched as Gabriel sat Cas down, then waved his wand. His lips were moving, but Dean couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. 

Thick, black smoke poured from Gabriel’s wand. It spread through the greenhouse, covering each individual glass pane from the floor to the roof, until he and Cas were completely obscured.

Dean pressed his nose up against the glass, but couldn’t see anything through the swirling black fog. He tried the door, but it was locked tight. He stepped back to take in the whole greenhouse. He considered breaking a window, but refrained when he remembered it was the same greenhouse that housed the Venomous Tentacula, so he waited, leaning against the glass.

He didn’t know how long he waited for, but eventually, the fog dissipated. 

Gabriel and Cas exited, and Dean caught a snippet of their conversation before they saw him still standing there.

‘You’re not channeling it enough, like Dumbledore told you to,’ Gabriel said.

‘I can’t, I’ll hurt someone.’

‘You won’t hurt someone-’

‘Gabriel-’ Cas stopped and they both looked at Dean, and Dean at them.

Cas no longer looked strained, but he was still pale and shaking, and Gabriel was supporting him at the waist.

‘What’s going on?’ Dean asked,proffering his arms for Cas to take.

Gabriel didn’t say anything. He could no longer deny that something was going on, but when he looked at Cas, Cas shook his head. 

‘What do you mean “not channeling enough”? Channeling what? How could you hurt someone?’

‘He won’t hurt anyone,’ Gabriel insisted.

‘But what does that  _ mean?’ _

‘Gabriel’s just being dramatic,’ Cas said tiredly.

‘But channeling what, though? Are you a Seer, or something, like John?’

‘No, I’m not a Seer.’

‘Well what, then?’

‘He’s just sick,’ Gabriel said. ‘He needs rest, come on, Cas.’

Gabriel lead Cas away, and something about the set of his shoulders told Dean not to follow. Against all of his instincts, Dean forced himself to go up to Gryffindor Tower rather than the hospital wing. He was glad he did, when he found John and Sherlock alone in the common room, kissing on the sofa. ‘Okay, can you two stop mackin’ on each other for like two seconds, please?’ he complained.

‘All right, calm down,’ John said, raising an eyebrow. 

‘How are you feeling today?’ Dean asked him.

‘Can’t complain. Why?’

‘I need your help. Something’s going on with Cas, and he won’t tell me. Gabriel just says he’s sick, but I think it’s something else.’

‘Like what?’ John asked, he and Sherlock sitting up properly.

‘I don’t know, but he had an attack of whatever it was just now. Do you think you can look at it?’

John glanced at Sherlock, who shrugged. ‘I suppose I could try. Tell me where you were.’

‘In the greenhouses. Gabriel conjured this fog, so I couldn’t see what was going on, but maybe you can.’

‘And this was just now?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Okay.’ John put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and searched for what it was that Dean had seen. To his surprise, he could see it perfectly. He saw the greenhouse fill with smoke, and Dean standing outside. He walked through the glass and, at first, all he could see was more smoke, but then he heard muffled voices. He moved towards them, but suddenly all he could see was a bright, white light, and his ears filled with a high-pitched whine, as though the light itself was making noise. He covered his ears and closed his eyes, but neither action helped at all. The light began to burn, and he remembered Sam telling him about his friend Pamela who had gone blind. 

Sherlock yanked him off the sofa and he fell out of the vision and onto the floor. He opened his eyes and was relieved that he could still see, though there were large spots in front of his eyes.

‘Oh my God, you’re bleeding,’ Dean said, his voice slightly muffled.

John flinched as Sherlock pressed a cloth to his ear.

Dean said something else, but John couldn’t hear him properly, and he shook his head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears.

‘What did you see?’ Dean asked again.

‘Er… nothing,’ John said, confused.

‘Nothing?’

‘Well, not nothing, just a lot of - white.’

‘White? What does that mean?’

‘I don’t know, Dean, if I knew what every single one of my visions meant, I wouldn’t have any problems, would I?’ John snapped, rubbing his eyes. ‘Great, now I’ve got a headache.’

‘I’m sorry, jeez,’ Dean said. ‘Looks like I’m just gonna have to use good old detective work. You guys in?’

‘Whatever you say, Dean,’ Sherlock said irritably, though deep down, he knew he couldn’t resist a mystery. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back everyone! Thanks to hhhellcat for the comment!  
> Might have gone slightly overboard with this one, but I hope you all enjoyed it anyway, and I'll see you again next time!


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